Power Play
by Awake-the-Dark
Summary: Melissa is the only writer on the WWE creative team that doesn't come from a TV background. If she doesn't find the Next Big Thing within 6 months she'll be fired. Setting eyes on Dean Ambrose for the first time she knows she's found her man. But Dean is no one's puppet and he has plans of his own for the pretty young writer.
1. Chapter 1

For one horrifying moment Melissa honestly thought that the first impression her new boss was going to have of her was as she threw up all over his shiny, no doubt ridiculously expensive Italian leather shoes. This moment was the culmination of everything she had been working towards for ten damn _years_ and she was going to blow it as she blew chunks right over Vince Mc-fucking-Mahon!

"You look pale. Not going to throw up on me, are you Ms Moran?"

Vincent Kennedy McMahon, owner and CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment asked jovially. In real life that big frame he had put so much time into creating looked slightly cartoonish though granted the two thousand dollar suit helped. Melissa felt her lips twitch slightly as he walked out into the waiting room to invite her in, and really did walk like he was carrying two damned space hoppers between his legs. The question was so startling that Melissa was able to take the breath she needed and the urge to throw up everything she had eaten in the past week eased slightly.

"I'd try and give you fair warning, sir."

She responded with a faint smile and he chortled. A good 'ole boy, deceptively friendly. Until you looked into his muddy brown eyes and saw the intellect and ambition that had taken his father's territory, taken over everything else in the USA and formed something unlike the world had ever seen. WWE _owned_ wrestling. And if there was a single wrestler on the planet that said they didn't want to be sign up then they were a damned liar. Or a fool.

"I know you."

Vince declared benevolently. "Or of you, anyway. CZW, right? How does a gentle little English girl like you end up as DJ Hyde's right hand man?"

At the mention of DJ's name Melissa had to suppress a small wince. Her boss knew the game. If his talent had any talent at all then Combat Zone Wrestling was only ever going to be a stepping stone to bigger and better things but… still. She owed DJ. Maybe not enough to throw away her dream of the WWE but enough that going for it was pretty damn uncomfortable. But Vince McMahon did not have to know this.

"CZW was doing a show down in London."

She replied in her quiet, well-educated voice. Vince would have thought the voice was better suited to one of those cut-glass, snooty accents that he heard on the TV but a little to his amusement her accent was a female version of Wade Barrett's. "I was working for the FWA at the time and the two were trying to work out some sort of relationship agreement. I met DJ and we got talking. He'd only been owner for six months at that point and he knew where he wanted to go but not so much how to get there. I'm a details girl. I know how to write a show. We worked well together."

Right up until she announced that she had a job interview with the WWE. He'd take her back: she knew it. She could go back to the ratty little apartment that had become a home in Philadelphia and work on the massive storyline that was unfolding around CZW's World Champion, Masada. Something in her brain twitched hungrily at the thought. That guy had star quality stamped all over him and he trusted her, he'd do whatever she told him would work. So she could work with him, stay with DJ and be… content? Melissa did not want to be content. Melissa wanted – for the first time in her exceptionally well-ordered and well-behaved life – to catch fire.

"Would you say that you were an ambitious woman, Ms Moran?"

The question was so tangled up in what she had been thinking that for a moment she could hardly breathe. Slowly she looked up and Vince caught a glimpse of what DJ Hyde had seen, that first night in London. She was a small, soft little thing and her cream and roses skin looked entirely unmarred but somewhere deep down in her blue eyes something _burned_. Melissa Moran took a slow breath and replied with brutal honesty,

"If I take this job with the WWE I lose everything, Mr McMahon."

Vince's eyebrows lifted; curious.

"And if I offered you the job right now?"

"I would take it in a heartbeat."

DJ had offered to drive her up to Stamford, Connecticut in the van but it was with some thankfulness that she had been able to refuse. She had come to Philly three years ago with her whole life packed into a suitcase. If you were the hoarding type then maybe the transitory life of pro-wrestling wasn't for you. The train journey gave her plenty of time to remember Vince's parting words to her.

_"I'm taking a chance on you, Ms Moran."_

_Vince stated bluntly. "Our creative team is made up of TV writer's. They're used to writing for TV; selling a professional product and that is exactly what WWE is these days. We are not like Combat Zone Wrestling. Our writers do not mark out at the thought of writing an angle between Triple H and Brock Lesnar. For the most part they could not give the slightest fraction of a damn if C. M. Punk loses the Championship after holding it for over a year. We have a six month probationary period as standard but I will be watching you very closely. If your work is more suited to the indies then you will have no shortage of people ready to tell you so, and throw you straight back into them."_

It was an opportunity with a blade hanging over her head, ready to drop down and impale her at any moment. But worth it; God, so worth it!

"Your keys."

The woman from WWE's HR gave her a bland, professional smile and handed over the keys to the apartment they had helped her to rent. Stamford had some major money going on and the whole city had a vibe of middle class, affluent America. Predominantly white, Democrat-voting and well educated the average income was around the $72,000 line. Melissa thought back to her childhood just outside Manchester and the poverty that clung to the lines of old terraced houses: left over from the mills. She barely recognised this place as being on the same planet.

"It's lovely. Thank you."

_I felt more at home in the rat trap shit-hole in Philly. The whore next door kept me up most nights but at least it felt like home_… Melissa looked at the door to her new place as though it was rigged up with some super sensitive alarm and the moment her fingers brushed it sirens would start flashing and wailing; "Fake! Phony! Imposter!"

It did no such thing. The wage she was going to be getting from WWE was easily equal to anyone around here. If the door was going to say anything it would probably offer her a high-limit Amex card. And seriously, she was planning imaginary conversations with her fucking _door_ now? Get a grip!

"When can I start work?"

Melissa asked with a surge of desperation. The woman was going to leave her any second now to her unpacking or something else completely unnecessary and if Melissa was left alone until 9am Monday then she was going to run straight back to Philly; she knew it. Or worse still beg DJ to come and get her: crumpling into his arms like a kitten the moment she saw his familiar face. The woman from HR blinked with astonishment and then something obviously… approving.

I'm heading back to the office now."

She said slowly. "You are booked into the tour and orientation first thing Monday but I don't think anyone would protest if you looked around before then."

Melissa felt something relax inside her. Start working and she could believe that this was real. Start working and forget about CZW and DJ, and that broken look behind his tough-guy act as she rejected his offer to drive her forever away from him.

_"You never did believe me that at heart, I was never any good."_

The creative team occupied its own little enclave on one floor of the massive headquarters building. Seriously, the place was imposing as all holy hell: a huge chunk of black and glass with the iconic logo branded up on the roof. Inside it was corporate city and anyone coming inside had to work really damn hard to remember that this place was built from wrestling money. In their suite of rooms there was a massive conference room with a table big enough to seat them all. Melissa was used to meeting there every day first thing with the head of the creative team, Vince's daughter Stephanie. This was when the first ideas of the day were hashed out and either approved or rejected. This first meeting always reminded Melissa of a pack of wild dogs fighting to the death over a piece of meat thrown from careless fingers. Good ideas got you noticed. Enough good ideas and the powers-that-be would be more willing to listen to the _big_ ideas: the audacious jaw-droppers that careers were made of. Melissa was not yet there. Not even close. She was the wrestling fan in the midst of a group of career TV writers and oh my, how they did despise her. How she'd make them piss blood and bile when she used that encyclopaedic knowledge of the business to think of the one idea, the big idea that had escaped them so far. Thoroughly enjoying her daydreams of the day they'd be forced to get down on their knees and kiss her damned talented feet it took her a moment to realise that the boss was actually standing in the entrance to her little cubicle. Stephanie McMahon regarded her with faintly amused, dispassionate blue eyes.

"Pack your things: you're booked onto a flight to Tampa at four o clock."

"I'm… what? Why?"

"You haven't looked around our developmental territory yet, have you? It might be a good idea."

Stephanie hesitated and then came in a little further into my cubicle, dropping her voice. Automatically I leant towards her.

"My husband likes to watch the indies."

She admitted and my mind boggled slightly at the thought of the almighty Triple H doing something as normal as watching TV. "He never paid much attention to CZW but then three years ago something interesting began to happen. From watching the show if he happened to be around he started to TiVo it. He really started _watching_."

Melissa felt a flush stain her cheeks. Was she saying… was she saying that Triple H was a _fan_…?

"You may have noticed that there is a definite status quo around here."

Stephanie drawled laconically. "And the chances of you ever getting your hands on someone like John Cena or my husband for an angle are essentially zero. But these boys: they aren't wrestling fans. If they even know about FCW then I don't think it registers that the boys busting their asses down there today are the John Cena's of tomorrow."

Stephanie lifted her eyebrows. "Something to think about."

She murmured and strolled away. Melissa felt her heart beginning to pound. FCW. Undiscovered talent. Fresh, new, untouched. If she found someone, if she could think of the perfect introduction for them into the WWE it would be the making of them. And her. She could discover the perfect superstar, as yet with no ego and so very grateful to her for what she could do for him. In Melissa's eyes the banked fire that Vince had noticed began to smoulder just a little bit brighter.


	2. The Discovery

Melissa had been living in the US for three years by now but she had never been to Florida. Even flying in to a relatively mild September evening the heat wrapped around her like a damp blanket the moment she walked out of the airport and she paused, half convinced she was drowning as she sucked in the air so heavy with moisture. She'd barely had time to throw a few things into an overnight bag when she left Stamford and the long flight was at the tail end of a very long day. Her hair was escaping from the twist she'd carefully put it into this morning, her lipstick was long gone and her smart trouser suit was completely wrong for these southern temperatures. Tampa seemed nice: the arena was only a few streets away from the water and the whole atmosphere seemed decidedly more relaxed than Stamford but then she was hardly in the mood to be a tourist. She caught a cab at the airport that took her straight to the FCW Arena and went straight backstage: a hot, bedraggled mess. They did not look terribly impressed. Even less so when she tried to blow a damp, clinging strand of hair off her forehead with an unfortunate "Pfffft!" sound.

"The creative team, huh?"

The creator and boss of FCW, Steve Keirn looked at her doubtfully and Melissa tried to ignore the way her crisp white blouse was now a mess of wrinkles, clinging damply to her back with sweat. Was she wearing a nice bra? She hadn't known this morning when she put it on that the whole of Tampa would be seeing it!

"I think it's important to get to know the up-and-coming talent."

Melissa said faintly. Holy Christ, did they not believe in air conditioning here in Florida? She was going to die of heat stroke! Water? Did they believe in water at least? Snatching an unopened bottle off a nearby table she cracked the lid and sucked it down like a dehydrated sea slug.

"So there's a chance for some of our guys then?"

Steve asked thoughtfully. "A big shot coming down from Stamford, casting her eyes over everyone and seeing what they've got?"

Melissa felt herself blushing and only hoped it was disguised by the already flushed and sweat-sheened state of her face.

"Familiarise myself with the FCW product…"

She mumbled wretchedly. Thankfully Steve took pity on her.

"Good."

He declared bluntly. "Some of the guys down here, they kinda like being the shark in the fish pond. They've forgotten that the idea was always to get to the WWE. So you'll remind them. Yeah. Good!"

He cast a critical eye over her dishevelled appearance. "But you can't go on like that! Jesus honey; no one will believe you work up in Stamford when it looks like we've dragged you on off the fucking street!"

"Go on where?"

Melissa was bewildered. She wanted to quietly watch the show from the back, get her first glance at the talent and then retire back to her – hopefully air conditioned – hotel room to gloat about her good fortune and plot future world domination. There might even be some drinking of ice cold vodka from the mini bar while she gloated and plotted; drunkenness being most beneficial to those pass-times. Steve looked at her like she was mildly retarded.

_"On."_

He repeated, with more emphasis. "Everyone loves a powerful bitch; or loves to hate them. You're going to be ours! Have the boys jumping through hoops, half-killing each other to impress the big shot from the WWE. Yeah!"

"P… powerful b…bitch?"

Even in the god-awful humidity Melissa felt the colour drain from her face and a terrible chill seize her flesh. "On _TV_? Oh no, no, no, no, sir! I'm not part of the talent. I'm strictly a behind the scenes girl! You have Divas for this!"

"And now we have you."

Steve replied complacently. "Powerful creative bitch. Yeah. But… you might wanna get changed, honey. You look like shit."

Whimpering incoherently, thrown so completely off her game that she could only mouth like a particularly brainwave-challenged goldfish Melissa was dragged off by Diva and "acting general manager" Summer Rae to find her something a bit less sweaty northern tourist and a bit more the domineering and powerful bitch of Steve's dreams. Melissa could only hope that they had a room offering a complete personality transplant next to the costume department.

_When the stars align… What followed next could so easily have been avoided. If I hadn't gone to Tampa, if Steve didn't have his "vision", if he hadn't thrown me into the ring right at the beginning of a tag team match between four of those "fish pond sharks" that I was meant to motivate to jump through hoops for me, and if one of those sharks hadn't been able to scent my sheer terror like it was blood in the ocean. If it had been _anyone_ in that ring but Dean Ambrose. But the stars aligned and like a row of dominos the factors fell perfectly into place._

Some part of Melissa's brain that remained ever cool wondered idly if Summer Rae actually thought women dressed like this to the office. Her powerful bitch outfit consisted of her own thin, white blouse with some short of ultra-short, pleated skirt like a stripper might wear if she was playing at being a catholic schoolgirl. She had no stockings so her legs were winter pale and bare right down to the ridiculous pair of patent leather stilettos Summer Rae crammed onto her bare feet. She'd left Melissa's dishevelled hair alone but applied more makeup to her face in a single night than Melissa had worn since hitting puberty.

"You look amaaaaaaaaazing."

Summer Rae cooed with a frankly shocking lack of sincerity. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

And with a blithe and callous giggle she shoved Melissa bodily out from behind the curtain into the arena itself.

She froze. FCW wasn't the WWE and its audience wasn't even a fraction of the size but they were several layers deep on all four sides of the ring. The walls were clad in floor-to-ceiling posters of coming WWE PPVs and the top FCW stars: Bo Rotundo, Leo Kruger and Seth Rollins amongst them if she'd actually been able to focus her eyes. That wasn't happening right at that moment however. Poised like a fragile young doe in the headlights of the nasty big Hummer hurtling down the road towards her Melissa's eyeballs were seeing precious little. It might have interested her to know that all of those three men were in the ring right at that moment, plus one Dean Ambrose. Steve had not been kidding about riling up the big boys. God knows how long she would have stood there, frozen solid had Steve not joined her.

"When a guy starts in FCW he hopes it's only gonna be for a few months."

Steve declared to the four men in the ring. One of them – tall, blonde, dishevelled – tilted his head to the side with a calculating sort of curiosity. Steve started to stroll down towards the ring, pulling Melissa along in his wake like a tiny fishing boat caught up behind a naval frigate. She stumbled a little on the ring steps in her ill-accustomed heels, latched onto the ropes and clung for dear life as Steve ducked between them and into the ring. "He works hard to get noticed by the big shots and every night as he tucks himself up into his bed in his crisp cotton jammies he prays, "Please, please. Let me get called up to the WWE tomorrow". But maybe it doesn't always happen right away and some guys, they're down here for a year? Two? And they forget. You, gentlemen, have forgotten. This lady here is here to remind you, in the very best way."

Melissa stared down at the microphone that Steve thrust into her hand like he'd just wrapped her fingers around his syphilitic, oozing cock. The fans were waiting expectantly, seeming interested. The four wrestlers in the ring having no damn idea what was going on looked at her with equal interest. Waiting for her to speak. Speak, Melissa! Say something! Damn it, say _anything_! What would DJ say? Hmmm… not so good. She doubted that anyone who was supposed to be a powerful WWE hot shot would say fuck quite as much as DJ did in a single sentence, or threaten to cave their skulls in with a sledgehammer. Masada? Ahhhh… maybe not him either. One of these guys might likely be her ticket to the big time. Telling him to go fuck himself the very first time she laid eyes on him with no provocation might sour their relationship slightly. But she was at least thinking now. Her lips no longer seemed frozen into a rictus grimace of sheer terror. Trembling, she slowly ducked into the ring and failed utterly to see Leo Kruger watching appreciatively as her short skirt slid up her bare thighs.

"Gentlemen, it seems to me we might be of use to each other."

She said slowly, her northern-shadowed accent taking everyone by surprise. "I have a contract in my briefcase…"

_You don't have a briefcase! Exactly what contract do you have in your imaginary briefcase for these guys to look at, Melissa!_

"…For a transfer to the WWE. Effective immediately."

One of the guys, oh so pretty with a waist length curtain of shimmering dark hair twitched like she'd just tasered him in the nut sack. There was a murmur of interest and excitement from the crowd and Melissa stood up a little straighter. They weren't heckling her? She was doing… OK at least? If she could at least get through this without any abject humiliation then she could cope with that! "I will be watching you. It's up to you to give me something worth seeing."

Her vocal chords promptly froze again but it was alright; short and sweet, right? Steve looked satisfied enough. And then, from across the ring someone moved. Dressed in simple black wrestling trunks with black boots and a black denim jacket his skin gleamed pale gold in contrast. A tumble of waves that shade of rich honey that can be so easily touched with platinum by the sun fell down over his forehead and down to the nape of his neck. Melissa looked at him and felt a jolt of adrenaline pierce her deep, deep inside. Suddenly – bizarrely – she was breathless. He moved like liquid, like he'd never been afraid for a single moment his whole life and when he took the mic from her his fingers were so hot against her own fear-chilled digits that they burned. He was close, then even closer and as Melissa stumbled backwards instinctively against the turnbuckles he was close enough that she could smell him: something unique and elusive and almost pure pheromone as she breathed him in and her knees weakened. She looked up at him with huge blue eyes: pupils dilating in a wash of black and he did not smile at her.

"You want to watch me, sweetheart?"

And it was the damndest thing as he ducked his head, his body bending over hers to murmur intimately into her ear whilst every single word carried over the mic to the raptly watching audience. His hot breath touched her ear and a seismic shift shook things loose inside her. Physically he completely overwhelmed her. Melissa considered herself average height at 5'6" but even in the ridiculous heels her forehead barely touched his chin. "I've been bored lately. Beaten everyone worth beating. Maybe it'll be fun to give you something worth watching."

And then to her shock, to her simple horror he caught hold of the twist of hair already coming loose from the long day and the longer flight and pulled her head back. With her back against the turnbuckle and she had nowhere left to go. Left totally exposed and vulnerable her small hands balled into fists and hit his solid chest only to freeze again when he ducked his head and breathed her in. He was _sniffing_ her? And that was… weird? Terrifying? Bizarrely erotic? She felt his lips brush on the bare, sensitive skin behind her ear, felt her hair come loose from its twist as he bound his hand into the damp and tangled mass and she felt it more intensely than she'd ever felt anything in her life.

"Mmmm."

He purred: his voice honey-drenched gravel in his throat. "You smell good: sweet and sticky like a cupcake. I wonder if you'll taste as good when I lick away your frosting. Alright sweetheart, you can watch and I'll… play."

And in a move that was as smooth as silk he broke away from her, spun around and fell onto the completely unforeseeing Bo Rotundo like the wrath of the gods. Letting out a startled yelp of fear Melissa needed no encouragement to land in a heap on the canvas and roll beneath the ropes before anything more could happen to her that night. Bloody hell! Who the hell was that psycho? Oddly enough when she had considered coming down to Tampa and coolly, calculatingly picking out her future meal ticket she had never considered that someone would pick _her_; whether she liked it or not.


	3. The Origins

Backstage again whilst the four men in the ring battled Melissa looked up with surprise when an exotically attractive brunette silently handed her a warm, damp flannel. Melissa grateful pressed it to her face. The heat was soothing against her chill flesh and hiding behind the thick material she could pretend for a moment that no one could see her, either. When you've just been badly rattled by the sexiest, scariest man you've ever seen then take the ostrich approach to life!

"I'd say that he just takes some getting used to."

The brunette eventually said. "But I've been working with him for over a year and he still scares the shit out of me sometimes. He's unpredictable, to put it mildly. I'm Maxine, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Melissa."

Melissa replied, good manners on autopilot as she peered out at Maxine from above the flannel. "Who _is_ he, anyway?"

Her voice cracked. Delayed shock had her shaking like a crack addict due a fix and the chemical explosion of fear and stress with a chaser of sexual attraction was just as much of a high. Never, ever had a man affected her like this. Throughout high school she had earned a reputation as a frigid bitch and her early working life had been dogged with the nickname Ice Queen. Somehow DJ had managed to see beyond that to the woman beneath but three _years_ with him; a fuzzy time of warmth, affection and comfort had not provided her with anything like what three minutes in that man's presence had inflicted.

"Dean Ambrose."

"Ahhhhh…"

Melissa made a strangled sound in her throat. Her eyes widened so far the whites seemed to expand across her irises. "J… Jon… M…?"

"He was Jon Moxley in the indies, yeah. Why? You know about him?"

"He wrestled for CZW."

She replied faintly and hid behind the flannel again. It seemed the only thing she could do.

_Theoretically her first days in the Combat Zone had coincided with the infamous Jon Moxley's last days there but they only ever came face to face on one single occasion. Safe to say that like her next meeting with him three years later it had been… memorable. He had been less than impressed that DJ had taken on a writer. CZW under its founder Zandig had been a raw, visceral, chaotic place and that had suited Jon Moxley just fine. But DJ had grander ideas. While he had absolutely no problems attacking someone with a garden strimmer he was also willing to branch out a little. Melissa had stood waiting outside DJ's office, acting on this advice that she allow him to break the news to his world champion before meeting him herself. She heard everything._

_"I'm not about to let any bitch put words in my mouth. If she comes then I go, DJ: choose."_

_"I know this will shake you to the core Moxley but the fact that you wear that belt does not mean you also wear my balls as earrings. We need her. She stays."_

_"Then fuck you."_

_That gravelly, slightly hoarse voice had retorted and the door had been flung back so viciously the handle embedded itself into the thin plasterboard of the wall. She had got a glimpse of him, nothing more: a CZW T-shirt pulled on over a slate grey long-sleeved shirt, jeans that hugged legs that seemed to go on forever and a face held taut with fury as he stalked past her. She flinched at the sound of another door further down the corridor being abused and then DJ appeared in the doorway._

_"Shit."_

_He said simply, and then with more fire, "Motherfucker! God fucking damn it, he's the best we have!"_

_"Maybe if you give him time to cool down…"_

_DJ laughed a little, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder._

_"The guy has issues, Melli. Granted you have to be a fairly miserable and twisted bastard to work here in the first place but Moxley has a thing about women that isn't all that healthy."_

_Recalling his words Melissa thought that DJ might have a point._

_"You'll just let him walk?"_

_DJ had an appearance like mankind had not evolved an awful lot since its caveman days. He shot her a look._

_"Well surely not; I'll just run right after him with a box of heart-shaped candies and get down on my knees all pretty like as I beg him to come back."_

_Melissa rolled her eyes in response but couldn't hide a smirk. Laughing softly DJ pulled her in against his solid, stocky frame. "Do what you do, Melli. Make me a new World Champion."_

_Three years later Melissa had to wonder at the perfect karma in the world that would lead her now to making Jon a world champion when she had been the one to take it away from him back then. If he'd let her. If there was anything sane behind those ice blue eyes to work with._

Deciding that she'd had quite enough of FCW that night Melissa retreated back to her hotel. After showering for long enough to turn her skin pink as a boiled prawn she collapsed into bed and fell immediately asleep. If she dreamed of Dean Ambrose then she could not remember those dreams in the morning; but there was a strange ache inside her that had not been there yesterday. A new restlessness. Showering again, she scraped her long hair back into her most severe French plait and applied only enough makeup to look professional. There would be no repeat of what had happened last night in the arena. She was the boss. _She_ was going to be in control and if Dean Ambrose didn't like it then he could walk away just like he had three years away and keep right on walking. The dress she eventually chose was knee-length and sleeveless; belting around her slender waist and a cool lilac colour. It was also years older in style than anything a twenty six year old should be wearing but Melissa preferred that. She was not so much uncomfortable with her sexuality as damned resentful that it was there at all. Taking a slow, deep breath she nodded sharply at her reflection.

"Remember what you are, and what you are not."

She instructed herself sternly. "And what you are _not_ is a woman that turns into a gibbering mess because Dean Ambrose has no sense of personal space and more issues than any one man has a right to have. Got that?"

Her reflection looked back at her; a little paler than usual and her blue eyes ever so slightly apprehensive. Grimacing, Melissa grabbed a pair of shades and slid them on.

"Fake it like you fake your orgasms, honey."

She advised herself in a mumble and grabbing her bag, left the safety of her hotel room.

The arena doubled as FCW's headquarters and the wrestlers' home base when they were in Tampa. Steve had an office in there and the matches for the night were scrawled on a white board outside. Usually during the day you could find the wrestlers in the gym working out, in the practice ring running through drills and ideas with a bunch of trainers, talking up and coming matches through with each other or just hanging out. Steve and the two other people that made up his "creative team" were plotting out some ideas for this whole "powerful bitch" angle when she arrived.

"More TV time?"

Melissa was less dismayed as she was sick to her stomach. Steve gave her that look like she was mildly brain damaged again.

"Obviously more TV time. What's the point of these guys going all out to impress you if the audience can't see you right there, being impressed?"

"And is it really going to be that easy?"

Creative guy number one, apparently called Mark asked. "They throw a couple of smart moves in the ring and suddenly you're all, "Ooh baby, you're the man for me. Come to Stamford immediately"?"

"Of course not!"

Steve replied before she had the chance. "You have to make them work! No man respects a good thing if it comes too easy."

There was a rumble of male laughter and Melissa sighed.

"Thank you for the advice, _gentlemen_."

She replied with glacial courtesy. The two creative guys wilted. Melissa was beginning to plan now: pushing aside her dread of getting out there on TV again for the familiar rush of feeling a killer angle come together. Matches, of course but with stipulations. The field gradually being narrowed down and the feud between the contenders getting hotter and fiercer with each night… Grabbing a pad and pen, Melissa began to talk and after five minutes the indulgent, faintly disparaging smirks on the three men's faces had been entirely wiped away.

The men that had been chosen to play a part in this had gathered in the office. They made up the hottest talent that FCW had to offer and were about due for promotion anyway. If she could give them a first class ticket to that promotion with the full force of her influence behind it then so much the better. Leaning against the desk Melissa could not say what emotion she felt when Dean Ambrose neglected to walk in through the door. There was relief in there for sure, really a lot of relief but damn it, if anyone had star quality written into his very DNA then it was that psychopath. As DJ would probably have said, "Well _shit_, motherfucker!" But deep beneath the professional pique was something that left her feeling hollow inside. He had rejected her. The void left by his absence made genuinely impressive guys like Seth Rollins, Johnny Curtis and Damien Sandow look slightly less somehow and it was only when she realised that he would not be there that the realisation coming hard on its heels was that she needed him.

"So this is a rough idea of what will be happening in the coming weeks…"

Steve was saying and Melissa grimaced slightly. She could not spare weeks away from the office. If she was doing this then it would mean pulling double duty between Stamford and Tampa for well over a month. Oh well, it wasn't like she had a social life, and maybe the frequent flyer points would be nice. Focusing back on Steve they all looked up with surprise when the door crashed rudely open. Really, who else could it have been?

_ Dean…!_

The explosion of relief and delight that exploded inside her when he walked through the door was as appalling as it was unexpected. Dressed in his day clothes of ultra-faded, ripped jeans and a black and gold T-shirt that seemed to advertise some strip club in Fort Lauderdale if the silhouette of a well-endowed woman wearing nothing but a butt-floss G-string was anything to go by, Dean's hair fell into a glossy cascade of curls into his eyes. Maybe it was disgust at the depth of her immediate response to him or just a desire that he should never, ever know about it but the words came out before she could think better of them.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Ambrose."

She said acidly. "Don't you know that it's me that will be calling the shots on this one? I'm surprised you'd let any bitch put words in your mouth. Or have you become marginally less misogynistic over the years?"

Oh. Shit. The silence in the room was suddenly so absolute it was like she'd just farted in church. Why had she said that? Why of all things had she chosen those particular words? Did she _want_ him to pull a repeat performance of that day in CZW or better still put her face into the wall like he had with the door handle? Did some sick, secret part of her want him to remember that day, and her with it? Their eyes met and his were a perfect, flawless pale blue like an Arctic winter sky; down-tilted on the outsides and utterly unfathomable. Never mind insanity: she had no idea what was lurking in there! If the eyes were the windows to the soul then he had the curtains drawn and within a moment she was drenched with an ice cold sweat.

"Picking on me, sweetheart?"

He asked softly. "That's… (_so fucking_ _stupid_)… all kinds of brave."

Melissa was sure her gulp of air must have been audible to the whole room. Her voice was very quiet to stop it from cracking when she replied,

"I will have your cooperation on this, Ambrose or you can walk away right now."

"Fuck cooperation, you want control."

His lips curved upwards. His eyes were glittering like two stars. "And I make a point of not giving that up easy. The laws of my world, sweetheart: if you want it, if you can _take_ it then you get it. And I'll be a very, very good boy."

The spill of liquid heat pooling in her loins met the finger of ice that trailed up her spine and Melissa had never felt so far away from control; even of herself, let alone him! There were eleven people in that small office, not counting Dean and herself but he was the only one that she could see. The others were barely even shadows in the background.

"And if I can't?"

She asked tensely, her self-control drawn as taut as razor wire. Dean laughed softly and with a shudder Melissa felt like a bucket of arousal and fear had just been dumped into her with absolutely no experience of dealing with them. At the sound of that laugh: everything wanton and wicked her nipples hardened into such tight, stiff peaks that they hurt.

"Then you'll give it up to me, sweetheart."

He replied softly. "You'll give it _all_ up to me."


	4. The Reckoning

Melissa swiped a hand across her nose like a child, sniffing. Her heart was still beating so fast after the confrontation with Dean Ambrose that she seemed to be leaking. Surely that was the only explanation for why her eyes were wet. Sitting outside the arena on a stack of crates she tipped back her head to the hot Florida sun and attempted to let it soothe her. But she was an English girl and this bright, hot sun was too alien to be comforting. The sudden rush of homesickness should not have been surprising considering the events of the last two days but it hit when she was at her most vulnerable. She got her phone out before she could think better of it.

"H…hey."

She said shakily. "It's me."

"Hey, you."

DJ's gruff, deep voice was as familiar to her after three years as her own mother's: the simple words hiding a gulf of emotion. They hadn't talked much since she left Philadelphia and that had probably been for the best. A clean break. It was fucking selfish of her to call him now and she knew it but she had never needed him so badly or missed him more. She sniffed, her eyes welling up with tears and she despised herself for her weakness. "Melli?"

His voice sharpened immediately. "What's happened? Are you OK?"

She managed a watery smile like he could see her, and be reassured.

"I'm OK, honestly. Nothing has happened. Just… I really needed to hear your voice."

On the other end of the phone DJ's breath caught.

"Yeah."

He said wearily. "I know what that's like."

"DJ…"

Her voice cracked and she forced herself to be silent. What could she say?

_I'm sorry I left, even though we both knew I never loved you like you loved me and one day you would have really fucking hated me. I'm sorry I can't do the decent thing now and just remove myself from your life entirely but you were the closest thing to home I've ever known._

"What are you doing right now?"

She said instead, injecting some lightness into her voice. DJ accepted it.

"We've got a home show tonight so I'm setting up. Most of the guys got in last night so soon I'll go round to whatever flea pit motel they're crashing in and kick their asses out of bed. Tonight I'll face your boy for the CZW Championship."

He sounded amused when he mentioned "her" boy, as he always had been considering the boy in question was a scary as fuck Texan with more piercings than you could count on one hand and skin that was as heavily scarred as it was tattooed.

"You're going up against Masada?"

Now this was genuinely exciting. "Damn DJ, I'd jump right on a plane and fly back to Philly to see that!"

His laughter rolled down the phone and it slowed her erratic, racing heartbeat like nothing else could have. She found herself smiling for the first time all day.

"I'd be touched if I didn't know damn well you'll be rooting for that crazy son of a bitch."

He teased. "But how about you? How's Stamford?"

"No idea."

She said dryly. "I'm down in Tampa looking in on FCW."

"Yeah?"

DJ sounded interested. "There are a couple of ex-CZW guys down there right now. You want I should give them a call? Tell them to introduce you around and show you where the good shrimp is?"

A helpless grin lit up her face. It had always amazed her that this genuinely tough guy – owner of the most violent promotion in the US for fuck's sake! – could have another side that was pure marshmallow-stuffed teddy bear.

"Maybe I could say hi."

She replied shyly, scuffling her feet at the mere thought of going out with total strangers for shrimp. She chewed on her lower lip. "Actually I… I kind of met one of them already."

"Yeah?"

"You… you remember Jon Moxley right?"

Her voice started to shake. "He goes by the name Dean Ambrose these days."

DJ hissed in a breath.

"Moxley. Shit. I heard something about him finally making the big time. How's he been treating you?"

"He… said hi."

Melissa replied weakly and wondered if DJ would buy _that_ pile of garbage for a single second. "I was kind of wondering; do you think he remembers me? I mean… will he know who I am?"

"Is he supposed to be blind or stupid?"

A voice replied in a lazy drawl that concealed sharp knives. And it did not come from her phone. Melissa looked up slowly, blanching when she saw Dean leaning against the wall next to the door she had recently come out of. Arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes were like lasers. "Yeah, he knows exactly who you are, sweetheart. Now hang up the phone. You don't want to have DJ playing the hero and racing off down here to protect you when he has a shot against Masada tonight, do you?"

Melissa swallowed hard but summoning up a disdainful sneer to paste across her face she flicked a hand in dismissal and turned her back on him again.

"DJ? I have to go. They're calling me."

"Alright. Hey Melli? Stay away from Moxley, if you can. I'm not saying that he's as much of a psycho as he plays in the ring but that act is sure feeding off something inside him, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind."

She replied faintly, acutely conscious of Dean's gaze burning into the back of her skull. "Good luck tonight, with the show. And DJ… thanks."

"I didn't do anything."

He mumbled and she felt a smile curve her lips. Hanging up, she took a deep, slow breath and turned around.

* * *

A smile that mirrored her own tugged on the corners of Dean's mouth but held none of her soft affection.

"You're so obedient."

He mused. "Good dog. Or should that be bitch?"

Melissa was on her feet in an instant, stalking up to him and invading the hell out of his personal space.

"Get this into your thick head, Ambrose. I am your boss. And if you ever speak to me like that again so help me God not only will I fire you but I'll blacklist your name so that you won't even be able to wrestle in parking lots!"

"You have to get yourself so worked up on anger and outrage that you're drenched in it or you can't even fucking look me in the eye, _boss_."

He mocked. "Forgive me if I'm not quaking in my boots."

Melissa made a strangled, outraged noise of fury in her throat and swung for him. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Up until that moment there had been almost no physical contact between them. Some things had remained off limits. And now it was her that changed the rules. Moving fast as a snake he caught hold of her fist before it could connect with his face. Gripping the other as well he forced them both behind her back and dragged her in against his body. Freaking out, she immediately lashed up with her knee to catch him in the balls but it stood to reason that Dean would be familiar with a move like that. Trapping her thighs between his heavier, more muscular ones he soon had her completely immobile. Struggling, whimpering Melissa glared up at him.

"Oh yeah, baby. Just like that."

He drawled and shed froze; suddenly acutely conscious that her body was plastered against his _all_ the way down. The way his thighs were tangled with hers and the way he forced her arms behind her back arched her forward slightly; creating friction with one particular part of his body. The feel of him swelling hard and thick against her stomach made her breath cut out. Slowly, deliberately, his blue eyes locked on her face all the time one of his hands flattened out against her and smoothed down over her ass. The flash-fire of sensation took her completely by surprise. Her body had never responded like this; she hadn't even thought it could! The smile that slowly crept over Dean Ambrose's perfectly shaped mouth was very, very bad.

"Here's how it's going to go."

He ducked his head down to murmur against her ear. She shuddered with the depth of her response to him. Without heels on her face was about level with his neck; her nose almost brushing the stubble in the crook of his jaw. God, but he was a big, powerful man. And he just felt so… damn… _good_. "You know that you cost me the CZW Championship. Seems to me that you _owe_ me. So pull your bitch boss act all you like just as long as you remember who's calling the shots around here until you're all paid up and I'm WWE Champion."

"Fuck. You."

Melissa replied through gritted teeth and then made a small, helpless sound when he dropped both hands to her ass and used them to lift her up against him, bringing the rigid proof of his arousal right in against her core.

"If you like."

He murmured silkily. "Mmmmm. You feel good. It wouldn't even be a hardship."

And languidly he swirled his tongue into the shell of her ear. Melissa spasmed; heat and pressure building up inside her as he shifted his hips against her just so. With a sudden extra desperate wriggle she managed to break his looser hold on her, catching onto the wall to steady herself. Flushed and gasping she glared at him: his eyes narrowed, a rampant hard-on and gloriously pissed off.

"I'd have to be bloody insane to deliberately put myself within a twenty foot radius of you!"

She snapped. His sudden smile was completely unexpected and – God help her – charming.

"Nah. It'll be fun. And I don't know what DJ told you about me but one thing he doesn't know is how I can make it worth your while."

His smile positively devilish, he pulled his T-shirt down over the bulge in his jeans and gave her a lazy salute. "Later, boss lady."


	5. The Awakening

The heat of the day only seemed to get worse as evening drew in. It was another sultry, humid night in Tampa and Melissa felt her clothes clinging damply to her skin. And there were an awful lot of clothes to cling. Melissa grimaced at the feel of the black hose clinging damply to her legs.

"I have clean clothes on now."

She told Steve urgently. "I don't have to borrow anything tonight."

He glanced at the respectable, rather matronly charcoal grey dress she had brought with a look that spoke volumes. When his eyes reached the black hose and ballerina flats he looked positively incredulous.

"I am not for a second saying that women in wrestling have to wear next to nothing."

He said slowly. "But it sure as hell is better than them coming out there dressed in a grey sack. You have a great body, sweetheart. Work with it!"

The look she shot him was so cold she could almost feel her eyelashes freezing. Steve winced and took a step backwards. "And I mean that respectfully."

"It is not respectful to assume that you have any right to comment on my body."

Melissa growled. The right to comment was rarely given. The right to touch had been _so_ rarely given she could count the instances on the fingers of one hand. Even if she'd been in a nasty industrial accident that had removed some fingers. Plus one now, she supposed: although Dean Ambrose had not asked or waited for her permission. He had simple taken what he wanted. The queerest shiver ran down her spine and in the Florida heat her body felt too hot; her blood thickening and slowing until it trickled through her veins like lava. Rarely commented on, hardly ever touched and _never_ seen her body seemed to be staging some sort of rebellion. She wondered for one wild, aching moment if Dean would reluctantly give in to her demands that any intimacy between them had to take place in bed, in the dark, under the covers, like DJ had been forced to. Somehow she thought not. The heat in her blood flared a little hotter: the core of the volcano settling in her womb and just _waiting_… Melissa gave a shuddering sigh and plucked fretfully at the god-awful grey granny dress.

"It is hot tonight."

Steve looked like a man just given a reprieve from Death Row.

"Yes!"

He nodded vigorously. "It is very hot in Florida and for health and safety reasons I do suggest you wear something else. Remember, you'll have the lights to contend with as well."

He coaxed persuasively. "That hot arena, no windows…"

"Alright!"

She snapped, feeling ill just at the thought of that hot, stifling arena with one Dean Ambrose very much in it. "I'll… I'll get changed."

Sitting close by and hanging onto every word Summer Rae's blue eyes gleamed like a homicidal china doll's. Before she could suggest another Summer Rae Makeover from Hell however, someone else interrupted.

"Melissa? I have something really pretty that will look great on you."

Maxine smiled at her. Surprised and not entirely sure how to deal with the warmth, Melissa smiled hesitantly back at her. The other woman held a hand out to her like she was coaxing a wild pony. "Come on honey, I'll make you look pretty."

* * *

Someone seemed to have settled on a song for her entrance music, Melissa thought as she slowly stepped through the curtain from the back. Framed by the neon lights on the entrance gate she was startled by the cheers, and some wolf whistles from the fans. She glanced down quickly to check that the short business skirt was not accidentally tucked up into her underwear, and smoothed her hands over the silken, jade green shell to erase non-existent wrinkles: unintentionally drawing every male eye in the place to her breasts as she did so. Satisfied, she set off down the ramp, concentrating so fiercely on walking in the stiletto heels that she barely even noticed who was in the ring waiting for her. She got to the ring and paused. Last night Steve had held the ring ropes for her getting into the ring and she had sort of tumbled out when she left it. Teetering up the ring steps, grabbing onto the ropes for safety when her hellish heels caught in the corrugated metal and threatened to throw her right back to the ground again. Christ! Giving the steps a dirty look she blinked when someone sat on the middle rope, forcing it down for her to step through. Her grateful smile froze when she discovered exactly who was being so chivalrous. Almost nose-to-nose with Dean Ambrose, she caught her heel on the rope and would have fallen flat on her face had his arm not lashed out, wrapping around her ribcage and steadying her.

"Do I rattle you that badly, boss lady?"

He breathed, for her ears only. Melissa ignored him, cheeks burning as she had no choice but to grab his hard forearm until she could disentangle herself from the detested ring ropes. He was not wearing the denim jacket from last night, she discovered. Instead her hand touched bare skin; silken, golden bare skin dusted with dark blonde hair and so hot she wondered if he was running a temperature. At the touch of him she felt a hormonal spike so severe that she almost whimpered. Oh God, he needed to be touching her now… Instead she pulled away, and then took several steps for good measure. Being so close to him seemed to be dangerous for her sanity.

"A… Ambrose."

She struggled to find her usual icy composure.

_You're a frigid, ice queen bitch, remember? One man cannot change who and what you are! You _are_ a frigid, ice queen bitch_.

"As I recall, you wanted to impress me. You wanted to give me something worth watching."

Dean didn't reply. Leaning against the turnbuckles directly opposite her his blue eyes were half closed and lazy. Draped over the top ropes on either side his arms made a perfect frame for his body: dressed to wrestle in those black trunks and boots but with an Explicit Ambrose Violence shirt pulled over the top. Melissa took a hungry, guilty glance at the sheer perfection of what was being offered to her view and then ruthlessly forced her eyes up to focus on his face. "I was impressed with your enthusiasm and your eagerness to please…"

There was a hum of laughter from the fans. "So tonight to kick off the tournament that will result in a WWE contract for one lucky individual it will be Dean Ambrose versus Bo Ro…"

"No."

It was said flatly and utter certainty. Melissa faltered, looking at him in stunned amazement.

"No?"

She squeaked, rather forgetting her ice cold bitch boss persona. "You can't say no! You said… you said you wanted to be a part of this!"

"Don't get your panties in a tangle, boss lady."

Dean said with soft mockery. "You'll still get me to the WWE but on _my_ terms. I don't know if you've been keeping an eye on things down here in FMW but since I lost the 30 minute time limit match to Seth Rollins last year he's been too much of a coward to accept a re-match."

"I've been watching."

Not a lie. Since she'd met Dean last night Melissa had been compulsively watching every Dean Ambrose match she could get her hands on. The series of three with Seth Rollins had been outstanding. "But I would debate the cowardly part. Seth Rollins beat you fair and square. What does he have to prove now? Don't you gentleman have a charming expression when your… business has been concluded? Ah yes… Been there; tapped that."

There was a roar of response from the crowd and Melissa allowed herself a small smile. She was… she was enjoying herself! Dean gave a short bark of laughter.

"Seth Rollins didn't get a damned thing from me, lady."

He drawled and her lips twitched.

"Nevertheless you will be fighting Bo Rotundo tonight. _I_ make the matches, not you."

A moment later Dean pushed himself off the turnbuckles and moved in like a damned panther. Sucking in a breath with an embarrassing yelp Melissa found herself pinned into the opposite corner with his arms on either side of her.

"Is that so?"

He murmured, the microphone picking up every word. "I want Seth Rollins, lady and if you've got any sense at all you'll make it happen."

"If you want Mr Rollins so badly might I suggest that you get _him_ in the position you currently have me in!"

Melissa retorted. Amusement flickered through his blue eyes like lightning. And then he leaned into her. One of his bare thighs slid between hers, almost lifting her off her feet until they were belly-to-belly, chest-to-chest and his face was waaaaaaay too close to hers for comfort. She gasped, her hands flattening against his chest in an effort to push him away but it was like pushing on a brick wall. The sheer size, heat and overwhelming masculinity of him were too much. Shifting, his thigh slowly slid forward; the heavy muscle chafing against the thin barrier of cotton underwear between her legs. The relatively gentle touch resonated like a whiplash throughout her body; triggering a chain reaction of pleasure, heat and such intense need that she was struck speechless. The pool of heat in her core was scalding and instinctively she pushed back against him, creating more of that blissful friction. Dean's nostrils flared, his eyes half closing as he dragged in the unmistakable scent of her painful arousal.

"Well now, you get more interesting every time I see you."

He purred against her ear: a gravelly, honey-drenched sound and she prayed, of God she _prayed_ that the microphone hadn't picked that up. Shifting his hand he wrapped it around her throat and they were such big hands, he was generally so much bigger than she was that his fingertips almost touched around her. "Make the match or you won't like what I do to you next."

He said more loudly. The fans were reacting and Melissa had a moment of clarity that they thought this was all about violence. They couldn't feel the shudders of sensation running through her body and they sure as hell couldn't feel the wetness between her legs like Dean could. He was… protecting her? And simultaneously threatening that whatever he did next might be a bit more difficult for the arena of fans to ignore.

"Don't."

It was a broken sound. Dean's fingers caressed the nape of her neck as he simultaneously ground his thigh up between her legs.

"Say it."

He growled. What choice did she have?

"Tonight's main event will be D… Dean Ambrose against S…Seth R… R…Rollins."

She whispered and there was an explosion from the fans. Dean broke away from her so abruptly that she was left sagging against the turnbuckles, tears stinging her eyes and her legs too weak to support her. Cupping her cheek in one hand Dean let out a feral noise of satisfaction.

"Good girl."

He purred, and pressed his lips against hers in the hungriest, most carnal kiss of her life.

* * *

How she got through the rest of the night Melissa was never sure. They put a big, ostentatious pair of chairs near the commentary desk and she and Steve sat on them whilst first Bo Rotundo wrestled Damien Sandow and then later in the night Dean had his long-awaited re-match with Seth Rollins. There was nothing fancy about Dean's style; she thought dazedly. He wasn't a high flyer and he wasn't an out-and-out powerhouse but there was something compelling about him when he wrestled anyway. And pair him up with the athletic and high flying Seth Rollins and what you got was pure dynamite. Somewhere behind the haze of sexual arousal and confusion an idea began to smoulder, like an ember falling from a fire and settling on the carpet. Ambrose and Rollins… But Ambrose hurled Seth over his head in one hellish German suplex; his back arching as he did so and then there was nothing but the heat and the need.

* * *

The showers in the arena were all open and normally Melissa would not have ventured into them unless someone had held a gun to her head. But none of the divas had wrestled yet and Melissa was desperate to wash the evidence of her own shame from her body. Standing beneath the cool spray she gave a low moan and rested her head against the tiles. Her breasts were swollen and so sensitive that she couldn't bear to touch them; her nipples throbbing, viciously tight little cherry stones of arousal. She couldn't even stand to have her thighs pressing together. Hesitantly, uncertainly her hand brushed over her lower stomach and then froze. What the hell was she thinking?! In anyone walked in the humiliation of them catching her doing _that_ would actually kill her. But she needed. She needed something so badly that there were no thoughts: just the ache. Whimpering she switched off the shower and wrapped a towel around herself; going to get dressed.

* * *

Walking into the reception area of her hotel Melissa headed up to the fourth floor on auto-pilot, taking a detour to pick up some ice from the machine. If she had any plans for the rest of the night they involved lots and lots of vodka. Fiddling with the plastic key card she cursed softly as she first dropped it and then almost dropped the ice.

"Need help?"

An only too familiar voice drawled from directly behind her and for a second she swore that her heart actually stopped with the shock. Clutching her hands to her chest she almost keeled over like a Shakespearean actress.

"You scared me!"

She gasped and then exploded, thumping Dean on his rock-hard pectorals. "And you… you _followed_ me, you creepy bastard!"

"To be fair, a marching band with a full Macy's parade could have followed you and you wouldn't have noticed. I was hardly hiding behind lamp posts."

He replied with amusement. He smirked at her mockingly. "Something on your mind, boss lady?"

"I am not accustomed to being stalked by overly affectionate blond psychopaths!"

She retorted with dignity, fumbling with the key card again.

"Just overly affectionate, brunet psychopaths?"

He replied sweetly, eyes narrowing at the mention of DJ. She ignored him, concentrating fiercely on getting the door open until it occurred to her that if she did, she would more than likely have Dean Ambrose in her room. No. Oh hell no! She spun around to face him and his eyebrows lifted.

"Want to do this right here, boss lady? You really do get off on the public stuff, don't you? Luckily, I'm not shy either."

His grin was positively feral.

"Go home!"

She hissed at him. "Bad enough that you molest me in the ring but bringing it here is a criminal offence!"

Dean tilted his head to the side, studying her calculatingly as though taking the measure of her sincerity. Clearly it was lacking. Grabbing hold of her hips he pulled her body in against his.

"Haven't you figured out by now that you're not in control here?"

He murmured. "I am. And fuck knows you're so uptight you're desperate for a guy just like me to allow you to finally let go."

He twined his hand through her still-damp blonde hair and pulled her head back. Melissa was helpless to the desperate, needy whimper that trickled from between her lips, her hands plucking fretfully at the t-shirt covering his hips. Pushing her back against the wall he thrust his knee between hers in a reflection of what had happened earlier in the ring. "So let go."

His hand slid up to cup her breast, his thumb discovering one excruciatingly sensitive nipple. "Scream for me."

He breathed, before his lips settled over hers.


	6. The Ascendency

Kissing Dean Ambrose was an experience utterly unique in itself. Pinned against the wall by his big body; one of his hands cupping her breast and the other cradling her cheek she felt simultaneously overwhelmed and strangely cherished. Given absolutely no choice in the matter, something in Melissa relaxed. She started to kiss him back, shyly at first and then with mounting hunger as she discovered how soft his lips was. He nipped at her lower lip and she parted them; Dean immediately taking ruthless advantage. His tongue stroked along her abused lower lip and then lazily began to explore. A tremor of the fiercest desire she had ever experienced rocked her and finally she allowed herself to slide her hands up his muscled biceps and tangle in his hair. Those blond curls were just as silken as she had imagined; wrapping around her fingers like fragile bonds and he growled, grinding his hips against hers. She could feel him now: pressing hard and swollen against the fabric of his jeans and the thought of what he might feel like pressed against her, without that barrier in the way made her squirm and moan softly in arousal. Just how quickly her passion was ramping up took her completely by surprise but so long restrained, given an escape her needs exploded outwards. He liked having his hair pulled? The knowledge was unexpectedly arousing. His mouth tasted sweet, almost like honey and it was addictive: long, drugging kisses that left her lips swollen and red. Now that she was holding onto him his hands went exploring, dragging up her ribcage again, this time in reverse to cup her breasts again. His thumbs traced tight circles around her nipples until they were so erect they ached; his tongue lapping against hers like it was lathing those stiffened peaks and a low, desperate moan escaped from her lips.

"Dean!"

"So sensitive."

He purred. Pulling away from her slightly his large hands slowly began to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the front of her dress from neck to hem. He stopped halfway down and for a moment the fabric still draped over her breasts. Her chest was heaving with her hectic breathing, cheeks red as poppies and her blue eyes awash with black as her pupils dilated. He gave a low laugh that was nothing about amusement and one hundred per cent pure male satisfaction. It was the sound of a man absolutely sure about the woman in his arms and never in her life had Melissa had a man make that claim on her. "Look at you."

He murmured huskily. "Look at you falling apart. Fuck, if that isn't the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

He brushed the drapes of her dress aside, baring her breasts and the moment his lips closed around her nipple she arched like one caught in an electric current. Clenching in his hair again her hands instinctively dragged his head closer and his growled, beginning to suckle on her. His hands caressed her: strong but delicate fingers in contrast to the wet suction of his mouth and they seemed eager to explore her: from her breasts down to her belly, around to her back and down to her ass only to physically lift her and drag her closer. Hugging his slim hips now, wide open to feel that rigid arousal pressed where she needed it most and the rasp of rough denim against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs she instinctively ground against him and pleasure streaked through her like lightning. His hands were kneading against her hips like a cat: rhythmic motions that were scrunching the dress higher and higher up her thighs. When his hands dropped low again they encountered the bare skin of her thighs and the beginning of her buttocks before the chaste cotton panties took over and a sound so essentially masculine and primal rumbled from his chest that Addie had never in her life felt so female. His teeth met her breast, just grazing and she gave a keening moan. Gripping her in his hands forcing her to stand upright Dean slithered to his knees in front of her. Hands curling around the backs of her thighs he pressed his face between them: hot breath against soaked cotton panties and when his tongue dragged slowly and languorously over that wet cotton her knees went weak. He looked up slowly, tongue sliding over his lower lip and eyes half closing like he'd tasted something delicious. Melissa looked around wildly. They were in the middle of a hotel corridor. Anyone could appear at any moment. All she had to do was open her hotel room door and lead him inside to the safety of the bed where such acts really _should_ take place. But the muscles in her thighs were wracked with tremors and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the pure blue depths of his. For the first time, even if it was the only time in her whole damned life she would not force herself to do the right thing. And maybe Dean was a mind reader or just fantastically good at reading the signals of a woman's body before his smile was pure evil. Holding her eyes all the while his thumbs hooked over the fragile elastic of her virginal white panties he slowly, slowly dragged them down. The anticipation building, the cotton drag of her underwear as it progressed down her legs was almost desperately pleasurable. Supported by the hotel wall as her own legs would have failed her minutes ago her fingers twisted Dean's curls into knots, binding her to him. Not that he needed it: his face between her legs his tongue was in turn soft and probing as he lapped at the honey trickling over her folds. Flicking against the throbbing knot between her legs at first he seemed faintly fascinated with it, suckling and Addie was speechless but far from silent as waves of heat and pleasure began to radiate from that spot. It felt like lava gathering in her womb; a place of scalding molten heat and when his long fingers slowly slid inside her, beginning to stretch her out it was just far too much. Gasping his name she felt the pleasure inside her begin to peak. It was like being on a roller coaster; the slow, torturous rise to the top and then a pause at the top of the world before you began to plummet on the ride of your life. And she was almost there, so very… nearly… there when she heard the worst sound in the world. With a soft "ping" the doors of the lift slid open. Hard to say who was the more horrified as her eyes met those of the immaculately dressed couple who stepped out, heading towards their hotel room. She went to pull away from Dean, to straighten her dress, to run away in tears but it was too late. Her orgasm was shattering; her cry almost a wail as her body was wracked with the most blissful sensations she had ever experienced.

* * *

If it hadn't been for his hands against her hips bracing her upright she would have crumpled. God knows where the smart couple had gone: she actually seemed to have blacked out for a minute. Possible maybe to pretend that they had just been a really horrible fantasy.

"I think… I think someone saw."

Her voice was ragged. Dean followed her gaze to the lift and then smirked.

"Damn if someone so tightly laced can be such an exhibitionist. Even I would have paused for a second."

Melissa felt her face burn so vividly that she actually felt a little light-headed.

"I… I am not! No one has _ever_ been able to accuse me of being like that!"

"Seems to me you made sure they couldn't."

Dean replied unrepentantly and then took the key card out of her hand. She went to snatch it off him and he chuckled. "Think that you're getting rid of me now that you've come, sweetheart? Sending me off like a fucking rent boy? Think on. I'm getting mine."

"You are vile!"

She hissed. He lifted his eyebrows.

"Seems that your wires are twisted then because vile obviously does something for you. Now get inside and take off that fucking dress."

Even satisfied was obviously not satisfied enough. At his words, his dominance Melissa could no more have denied him than she could turn back time.

* * *

Sat on the bed, still mostly wearing her dress Melissa watched him like a fluffy little bunny watches an anaconda. He had thrown his T-shirt aside casually and now his hands worked on his belt, drawing the soft leather through the loops and slowly, tormentingly pulling down the zipper. She was going to have sex with Dean Ambrose. Her thighs squeezed together at the thought and heat began to pulse between her legs again. Quite possibly this was going to be either the very best or worst thing she could ever do in her life but as the denim began to part her tongue ran over her lower lip, her eyes glued to the show. The knock at the door made them both jump.

"Ms Moran? Open the door please: this is the hotel manager."

Melissa closed her eyes. Not some hideous fantasy then.

"I'm rather busy at the moment!"

She called back and if possible his voice turned even colder.

"I'm sure. However I must insist that you open the door."

With an irritated growl Dean flung the door open. The manager was a middle aged man and he looked at Dean with the sort of disdain that even Melissa had never used on him. It bothered her.

"Is there a problem?"

She asked icily, with as much dignity as she could manage saying that her dress was buttoned up wrongly.

"I'm sure you know that there's a problem. We will not tolerate such outrageous displays in this hotel, Ms Moran. I'd like you to leave, immediately."

Her eyes widened.

"You can't kick me out of the hotel!"

"If you protest, Ms Moran I must inform you that my only other option would be to get the police involved on a matter of public indecency."

OK, now _that_ would be bad. Any stories of public indecency with a member of the FCW roster would end very, very badly for her career in Stamford. So far as she knew even the good 'ole boys had never been caught up in that shit storm.

"I'll leave."

She said hastily and the manager gave her a thin smile.

"I think that would be best."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later she was standing in the hotel car park with her hastily packed bag at her feet. She looked around her helplessly: like another hotel might materialise in front of her.

"There are other hotels in Tampa."

She mumbled to herself. "Even ones that might check me in at…"

She glanced down at her watch. "One o clock in the morning."

Dean rolled his eyes, groaned and picked up her bag.

"I really wish that I was as much of a bastard as everyone thinks I am, then I could happily just abandon you to this mess."

He muttered and started stalking away through the car park. Melissa scuttled after him.

"Dean? Dean! What are you doing?"

"What you are doing is spending the night at my place."

He replied briefly. "You can check into a new hotel in the morning – and in fact I fucking insist that you do because damned if I'm going to have a roommate – but it's too late for you to be wandering around Tampa."

Melissa was struck dumb. That was an unexpectedly chivalrous thing for him to do. She stared suspiciously at the back of his head; the blond curls still showing signs of her handiwork.

"Does this have anything to do with you insisting that you have your turn?"

She asked. His laughter was warm, wicked and it rolled through her like a physical thing.

"Yeah, I've gotta admit that it has a lot to do with that."

He admitted. He didn't look back at her, but held his hand back; just waiting. Biting her lip and dithering Melissa finally made up her mind. Oh what the hell; she was already a fallen woman. Holding Dean Ambrose's hand in public would be the least of her worries. So his hand closed around hers and that breathless feeling of excitement and safety enveloped her once again.

* * *

His apartment was a small, ultra-simple studio with a makeshift kitchen integrated into the living room/ bedroom and a separate bath. It was messy in the way that clothes were flung casually around but the guy seemed to have very few possessions. Melissa might have been curious about looking around but Dean didn't give her the chance. The moment the door closed behind her he pressed her up against it and kissed her into insensibility. Lifting her up he carried her over to the bed and dropped her down. The bed was unmade, relatively clean and smelled of him. Melissa gazed up at him. He was so hard that even in the thick denim she could see a clear outline of his long, thick penis through the material. Her mouth went dry. She was satisfied now; her body was glowing with a new, satiated languor but that harsh ache in her womb; that bone-deep need had been too deep to satisfy so easily. Reaching up to him she caught hold of his belt and tugged him down. His knees hitting the bed on either side of her he watched her with hooded, burning eyes. In a practiced unzip-and-wriggle he slid the jeans down his legs and she was left gazing at the sight that was a completely naked Dean Ambrose. His chest was deep and muscular; showing that classic V-shape as it tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. His skin was all over that golden, glowing skin apart from a paler modesty patch at his groin. His stomach was rock solid and lightly quilted with muscle and those long, long legs seemed to go on forever. But her eyes could not be distracted for long. He was so hard that he was pressed up against his stomach: a thick and intimidating length with a cluster of dark gold curls at his base. His balls were already tight and when she nervously licked her lips, squirming a little on the bed he twitched and shuddered; a drop of pre-come moistening his darkened tip. Leaning down to her he settled between her legs, pulling one of them up to hook around his waist. She ran her hands up his back, luxuriating in the feel of that silken skin and the muscles working beneath. As he slowly began to push inside her she felt the unfamiliar stretch and burn as her flesh began to accommodate something far bigger than anything she was used to. But she was wet, and so ready for him that even the aching pain was a pleasure. Arching up to him with a gasp there was a slide of flesh into flesh and nerve endings that had forever lain dormant fired into life. Dean let out a moan and buried his face against her neck. His weight was heavy on her but that was oddly exciting; this big man between her legs as she curled them high up above his waist. The thrust-slide of his rhythm was like a dance she instinctively recognised and she began to arch up to meet his thrusts. Whimpers began to build in her throat as a counter-point of his bass groans, nails digging into his buttocks in some primal need to have him still deeper inside. Dean resisted.

"I'll hurt you."

"I want it!"

She insisted, arching up against him and with a groan he gave her all of himself. She felt a dull ache as he bumped against her cervix but it was countered by some deep need finally satisfied. The pleasure was building again, not like when his tongue had been against her but deeper; slowly building but infinitely more powerful. The pleasure when he really began to move, withdrawing almost completely only to slam back inside was transcendent. Crying out, she clung onto him and Dean gasped, half laughing.

"Is that it?"

He rasped, his blue eyes boiling with heat. "Do you like to be fucked, baby? Oh Jesus, you were made for me."

Melissa felt the pleasure ramp up even higher, crying out in broken little whimpers and moans as he whispered filthy little things into her ear. She was such a bad girl; she liked it so rough and filthy… Gasping for breath, their sweat-slick skin sliding together she felt it when he released deep inside her. It was when he slowly began to pull out, the extra stimulation on some secret spot that her own pleasure peaked. Clinging onto him with a mewl of bliss she came so hard that she saw stars.

* * *

They lay in a sweaty tangle of limbs. Melissa had managed to relearn how to breathe but embarrassingly her hand had rediscovered his thick, golden curls and was not agreeing to let go.

"I think…"

Her voice was slurred with the aftermath and exhaustion. "I think that will have been successful in dealing with this tension between us. We should be able to work effectively as colleagues now."

His amusement vibrated through his body into hers.

"Is that your so polite, English way of dumping my ass?"

"Clearly."

Her eyes were closing. His heavy body was still partially over hers and being pinned to the mattress was bizarrely comforting. She felt scent-marked, utterly fucked and more peaceful than she had in many years. Dean didn't even bother opening his eyes.

"Fuck that."

He mumbled simply. "You're mine."


	7. The Morning After the Night Before

**A shorter chapter than usual and something of a bonus. Probably best to think of it as something outside the story as both Melissa and Dean are behaving rather out of character. But I love the thought of the two of them having one stolen morning before they have to go back to real life. So enjoy! For your pleasure, the morning after the night before...**

* * *

Melissa usually slept curled up in a little foetal ball, hugging a pillow to her chest. Her sheets were more expensive than she could really afford: pure Egyptian cotton with a ludicrously high thread count and a pure, virginal white. Her bedroom was a cool haven of somewhat sterile tranquillity, which made it all the more surprising when she woke up in a different bed entirely. Dean's bed was not remotely tranquil or sterile. Dean's bed would not have been described as virginal even by a blind nun who was trying desperately to be kind. And it was remarkably difficult to curl up in a foetal ball when you were pinned to the bed by 225 pounds worth of hot, sweaty male. And yet in a tangle of body parts and damp sheets she had slept better than she had in years. She yawned, stretching with a languor that felt entirely alien to her personality and yet was oddly enjoyable. Sleeping like the dead with his head pillowed on her breasts, drooling slightly Dean jerked and snorted into wakefulness. Gazing down at him Melissa had a moment when he raised his head to stare at her blearily when the pure, masculine beauty of the man actually took her breath away. His hair was a chaotic explosion of damp blonde curls, lips still kiss-swollen from last night and dark gold stubble shadowing his jaw.

"Good morning."

Melissa mumbled, wondering how the hell you should greet a near stranger who just yesterday you had sincerely believed that you loathed and now unexpectedly woke up naked with. Dean yawned and mumbled something back, wriggling his body until he was firmly between her legs and once more burying his face between her breasts. Utterly engulfed by him, something in Melissa relaxed. He was barely awake. There was no awkwardness at all and if he was going back to sleep then surely she could have another ten minutes? Mmmm, and it was so comfortable here… he smelled good… his hair was _so_ soft… Bloody hell she had hold of his hair again, didn't she? She would have to stop this before it became a habit or the poor man was going to be as bald as a much-loved teddy bear. Smiling slightly at the thought, her eyes drifted shut.

* * *

"Oooooh…"

Whether or not she actually had let go of his hair before she fell asleep she certainly had hold of it when she woke up again. His tongue was rolling over her nipple, drawing the aching nub into his mouth and suckling in a way that had an invisible line between her breasts and core pulsing into electric life. She could actually feel each suck pulling on things much lower down and despite the lingering, velvet ache from last night she felt heat and wetness spilling to make her ready for him.

"Dean!"

She moaned, twining one leg around his waist and arching up against him.

"Hmmm?"

He purred and the vibrations against her nipple had her eyes rolling back in her head. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh; rock hard and just as thick as she remembered. Just thinking about how perfect he was made her breath catch, turning her on so much she was achingly, desperately ready. And as though he sensed it or just maybe because he'd been waiting rather impatiently for her to wake up he slithered up her body, supporting himself on his elbows on either side of her head. Gazing up into his eyes Melissa found them liquid blue around his dilated pupils. He really did have the most extraordinarily beautiful eyes. Ducking his head he grazed his lips against hers.

"Before you come to your senses…"

_Kiss_

"…And realise that smart, clean good girls like you should never have anything to do with rough, bad guys like me…"

_Kiss_

"…I'm gonna make the most of this."

Another kiss, more lingering this time and as their tongues tangled Melissa could not have cared less than probably both of them had evil morning breath. She could only think that she was tasting pure essence of Dean, drinking him down and that little thought was so sexy that she whimpered in need, now tangling both legs around his waist with her heels resting in that intriguing dip just above his buttocks. "And I'm gonna go so deep, fill you up and it'll be like an imprint. After this you're always gonna feel me inside you."

Despite the uneasy knowledge that even before this Dean Ambrose had not been the sort of man that you easily forgot or replaced Melissa hesitated for a moment and then inwardly shrugged. So he wanted her to remember him, well he was certainly worth remembering. And if the way his body inside hers lingered like a silken shadow for the rest of her days then that seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Framing his face in her hands, gazing deep into those blue eyes she pulled him down so their lips touched again. She whispered against him,

"Impressive words, Ambrose but I'm a results only kind of girl. What have you got?"

He laughed softly, his eyes gleaming.

"Challenging me now? Oh baby girl, you don't know what you've started."

And lining himself up he started to push inside her.

* * *

Oh sweet Lord, the way the man could move his hips ought to be illegal. Disentangling her legs from around his waist he hooked them over his shoulders instead. The weight of his body pushed them back against her chest and it allowed him to go deep, deep inside her. The feel of the thick meat of him pushing into her, fighting for every inch made things low down tighten and pulse with stunning pleasure and he groaned as she clenched around him.

"Fucking hell… trying to… kill me…!"

He groaned, burying his face against her neck for a moment and sucking on the fragile skin. He began to thrust harder, his hips snapping against hers and driving himself relentlessly inside her. His body seemed to be spilling inside hers until Melissa was only the thin frosting and at the heart of her there was only him.

_"Deeeeeaaaaaaan!"_

It was a wail of shattered ecstasy, the bed hammering back against the wall until from the other side someone hammered back.

"Shut the fuck up, you rutting dogs!"

His neighbour bellowed. Someone listening, hearing every word, helpless but to imagine every last, dirty detail… Her orgasm imploded within her; pleasure streaking out through every body part in wave after wave. And oh God, it was blissful. A shudder ran through him; his body tensing like he was trying to meld their bodies together and as he raised his head she saw the almost shattered look in his eyes. She wrapped her arms around him instinctively.

"I've got you, it's alright."

She whispered into his ear. "It's alright. I'm right here."

* * *

"I remember a friend telling me something that their granny said once."

Dean was smoking a cigarette with one hand and had the other flung around her. It was a hot, sweaty embrace fragrant with tobacco and Dean smell, which was what had triggered the old memory.

"Yeah?"

Dean arched his eyebrows curiously.

"Not _my_ granny. We were hardly close enough that she was ever going to hand out advice but my friend's granny was really cool. She said that there was one thing you absolutely had to do when you started dating someone, to know if they were the One."

"Check his bank balance?"

Dean asked wryly and then grunted when she elbowed him in the ribcage.

"Sniff his armpits!"

He gave a short bark of laughter.

"Well that's new."

"She said if you sniffed the guy's armpits and he smelled amazing to you then he was the one for you. It's a pheromone thing. Chemically, the two of you are extremely compatible."

Smirking, Dean lifted the arm that was wrapped around her above his head. Like most wrestlers he was shaved clean beneath.

"Knock yourself out."

"I hope you mean that as in "go ahead" rather than a premonition of what will happen if I sniff your stinky pits."

"It's like Russian Roulette but with armpits."

He mused, grinning. Melissa rolled her eyes and then looked down at him. Ah, what the hell. DJ had never invited her to sniff _his_ armpits but then again she certainly had never asked. And maybe she needed biological confirmation that Dean Ambrose was entirely the wrong man for her and getting any soft or fluffy ideas about him was an exercise in sheer stupidity. Ducking her head she nestled her nose into the soft crevice of his underarm and breathed him in. He smelled… good: like man and musk and wild, down and dirty sex. The scent of him triggered a tremor of lust that rocked through her. Melissa thought that she might have growled. Stubbing out his cigarette on the bedside table Dean put both hands behind his head, kicked his legs out wide and _smirked_. "Oh yeah. I am sexual cat nip."

He gloated. Presented with an uninterrupted view of his body Melissa would have been a fool not to wonder if the other, secret parts of his body smelled just as intriguing. Delicately sniffing her way down his chest Melissa vowed that no one would ever be able to call her a fool. Dean's glee stopped abruptly when she reached her goal, his big hands threading through her long hair with a moan.

"Jesus Christ, do _not_ stop what you're doing…!"


	8. The Conflict

The dress was something that she had worn before, but always with a light cardigan over the top to shield her bare arms and décolletage. It was Ted Baker; heavy, silk brushed cotton in a rich cream colour splashed with pink cabbage roses. It was the single most feminine, expensive item of clothing she had ever owned and totally out of character for her but that morning it felt… right. Ah yes, perfect for the domineering, psychotic son of a bitch she was absolutely determined not to develop any soft and fluffy feelings for.

"Zip me up?"

She asked shyly when Dean emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey Hanes boxers. He looked up and blinked.

"That's a pretty dress."

He said slowly. His lips curved up in _that_ smile, the one that was utterly unique to Dean Ambrose and so damn lethal to women. Melissa felt her heart flip over and her clean underwear grow damp. He ran his pink tongue over his lower lip. "So pretty and pure. Kinda makes me want to… violate it."

Melissa took a step back from him

"Maybe I'll zip it up myself."

She said nervously. He prowled towards her, blue eyes glowing phosphorescent and a rather perverted smirk on his lips and she backed up until she hit the door. Damn this small apartment! Half-laughing, she fended him up with her uplifted hands.

"Such a pretty, innocent dress calls for some serious violations."

"No violating! No violating! Dean, stop it! Arrrrgggghhh!"

Dissolving into helpless laughter she squealed when he caught her around the waist and effortlessly lifted her up into his arms, tumbling her onto the bed. The skirt was padded out with a net underskirt and prostrate with giggles, she watched him puff out his chest.

"Me Tarzan, you Jane. Rawwwwwwr!"

He threw the skirts up around her head, plunging beneath them like an explorer tackling the Amazon.

"Dean! You'll crease the dress! Ahhh, I'm ticklish! I… oooh…!"

Her head fell back against the mattress. "Oh God, yes…"

"Violate me, baby."

Dean drawled from out of sight, his hand rapidly disappearing too as it slid up her calf and then her thigh. "Mmmmm. Can we get some stockings for this? That would be… fun."

The sudden hammering at the door made her yelp.

"Ambrose! Where the fuck are you, man? You were due at the gym with us three hours ago!"

Dean's head reappeared from beneath her dress; his cheeks flushed and dark blonde curls gloriously dishevelled as he switched from amorous explorer to really quite impressively creative cussing in the space of a second. "Joe."

He ended, and rolling off the bed, began to stride towards the door.

"Dean!"

She hissed, throwing a T-shirt at him and looking meaningfully down at his boxers. Glancing down as well he smirked and sauntered towards the door with his hard on leading the way. Melissa almost died of embarrassment.

* * *

"You'd better be half dead, fucker."

An impossibly deep voice rumbled when Dean opened the door. "Three hours late is just rude. And… fucking _hell_, dude! Put it away!"

Dean cackled with laughter but glanced back at the bed towards Melissa; making sure that her skirt was once more respectable and she was upright. He opened the door wider and in walked one powerhouse of a man. He was about the same height as Dean but wider, just flat out _bigger_. Golden skin, hair like a river of jet silk and startlingly contrasting pale grey eyes. Melissa felt her eyebrows arch slightly. Yowza. There were no men that looked like _him_ back in Stamford! He looked just as surprised to see her.

"Ms Moran."

He said, part in exclamation and part question. As well he might. What the hell was the new big boss from WWE doing in Dean Ambrose's apartment? Melissa felt herself blushing as pink as the cabbage roses on her dress.

"Ahhh, I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage. Mr… Joe…?"

The sheer excruciating Englishness of her response seemed to shift him into polite mode and automatically he held out one massive hand to her.

"Joe Anoa'i. I wrestle for FCW with Dean."

The name rang a bell. Melissa had a good memory and as though the computer screen was right there in front of her she could picture the essential facts of Joe Anoa'i. Currently wrestling as "the Blessed One" Leakee he was a former college football star and part of the legendary "Wild Samoans" wrestling dynasty: cousin to the Rock, nephew to Rikishi, brother of Rosey from the tag team Three Minute Warning. He had an impressive pedigree.

"Ah, of course. Unfortunately I've yet to see you wrestle since I've been down here."

Joe shrugged amiably.

"You're making the matches recently. If you want to see me wrestle I reckon it would be easy enough for you to arrange."

Inside Melissa the same tingle she had known for years with DJ and CZW began to run down her spine. Pulling the strings, calling the shots: she was a damn chess master of creative writing and booking and that rush never got old. It had been hard working for WWE; she just didn't have the influence she needed yet. But FCW was off the radar. She could _make_ the influence she needed. Momentarily forgetting that she was mid-conversation with Joe she eyed Dean with something like pure lust and his lips twitched with amusement.

"Quite the little megalomaniac, aren't you honey?"

He murmured. Melissa opened her mouth to protest and then hesitated. If he could see that in her… he wasn't judging. And why should he? If anyone understood ambition to such an extent that it was a constant need inside you; the fuel in your blood then he was him. He knew what it was to be ruthless. He would never criticise her for it. And realising that she had to realise how hollowed out with misery and self-denial she had been all her life. This man: unique, challenging, possibly a little insane and burning brighter than a supernova in the stark, Arctic wasteland of her life gave her permission to be herself. Her _real_ self. And that was so sexy she wanted him right then and there. His eyes darkened; becoming intent as they locked on hers and he took a small step towards her. It was enough to make her feel him: remember what it had been like to be in his arms and suddenly closer wasn't close enough, would _never_ be close enough.

"Um… guys?"

Joe cleared his throat and they both looked at him with surprise, like they'd totally forgotten he was there. "FCW? Work? Matches?"

Let it be said that there is nothing quite as annoying as a well-meaning friend pointing out that the real world did in fact still exist at the start of a love affair, despite how it seemed to the contrary. Dean growled and pulled the T-shirt on over his head.

"Work then."

Melissa's eyes widened.

"And a hotel!"

She exclaimed. "It's already check in time. If I don't get another room soon I'll be in the same position as last night."

His back was to her, the muscles in his butt flexing deliciously as he pulled on a pair of jeans and his tone was oh so very casual when he replied,

"You've already lost half the day. Don't want to lose the rest searching for a hotel, do you?"

"Like hotels are rare in Tampa?"

Joe asked in amazement. "I can name you 5 good ones just near the arena alone…"

"We're _working_."

Dean gave his close friend an apocalyptic glower. "Who has time to play hunt the fucking hotel? Leave your bag here for now. You can do it tomorrow. Maybe."

Melissa opened her mouth to respond, caught the slightly wild-eyed glare he shot her and thought better of it.

"Yes dear."

She drawled, trying to control the grin that was trying to spread itself all over her face. Grabbing her work bag she followed Dean and Joe out of the door.

* * *

Melissa sat on a chair in Steve's office; one leg hooked demurely over the other and wondered how the hell the man ever got any walk done. They were putting together the weekly TV show but the office was like Piccadilly Circus. The endless stream of talent wandering in and out was putting a serious damper on her creative flow. And it wasn't just Steve they were asking! Sometime in the past thirty six hours she had actually become the Big Boss Bitch she was playing for the cameras.

"So Ms Moran, I know I only came to FCW a month ago but if you gave me a shot against a guy like Kruger…"

"What do you think for the main event? Ambrose versus Rollins or Cesaro versus Johnny Curtis?"

"I am a _star_. I'm going to be a WWE Superstar and how is anyone supposed to remember that when I've done the job for Bo fucking Rotundo three times this month alone?"

In that moment Melissa really, really missed DJ. She might have written the shows and helped him book them but he had always been in between her and a bunch of hungry, enraged wrestlers.

"Hello."

For a moment she was so startled by the simple greeting that she stared at the man who had delivered it blankly. And then blushed.

"Ah… hello, Mr Kruger."

Leo Kruger himself. Half the requests she had received the afternoon had involved getting in the ring with this guy. Theoretically he was someone she could take back with her to the WWE and if she did, everyone would likely nod in grudging approval and no surprise whatsoever. Very tanned, hair a shade down from black worn loose around his massive shoulders his eyes were thoughtful when they surveyed her. Either his personal style was remarkably similar to the safari-style trousers and wife-beater vest he wore in the ring or he actually _was_ dressed to wrestle. And my, his chest did look good behind that stretchy black cotton.

"People say they have been coming to you for instructions today."

His accent was uniquely South African and the man himself entirely unlike anyone she had ever seen before. His sudden smile revealed excellent white teeth and lethal charm. "So here I am, awaiting your instruction."

How could he possibly make that banal sentence sound so incredibly provocative? And Melissa almost had a heart attack when a golden, muscular forearm wrapped possessively around her collar bones.

"Oh _really_? Are ya now?"

Dean drawled in a tone suggesting great incredulity. "Well keep on waiting, fucker."

Leo's eyebrows shot up, his dark eyes immediately taking in the tableau of the new boss lady pressed against Dean Ambrose's chest: that hold on her a screaming statement of "_Mine_".

"She is your personal booker, Ambrose?"

He sounded faintly mocking; the challenge somewhere in there unmistakable to Dean as the two alpha dogs snarled warningly at each other. Should Melissa have ever wondered what a big, juicy bone felt like caught between two wolves that curiosity was certainly satisfied. And deep down in her gut anger was beginning to smoulder.

"Whatever she is to me it cuts out any chance of you getting the personal attention that _you_ were looking for."

Dean growled, and grunted when she pushed her feet against the floor and slammed the wheeled office chair back into him with considerably force.

"Excuse me, gentleman."

She hissed, the ice dripping from her words in lethal stalactites. "Mr Kruger, you will be wrestling Mr Ambrose here tonight, as you could have easily found out from the board outside where these matches are customarily announced. _Mr Ambrose_…"

And turning around to face him her glare was utterly merciless. "I trust that concludes any business we had together."

And deliberately pushing back out of the chair in a way that sent it rolling backwards over Dean's foot she stalked out of the office.

* * *

"What the fuck was that about?"

Melissa had come outside to cool down. Emotionally that is; physically the Florida heat was worse than ever and she had a sudden nostalgia attack for the constant cool drizzle of her native Manchester. Dean being Dean however, and possessing all the emotional sensitivity of a rhino with a hangover had come stalking right after her.

"You tell me!"

She exploded. "What the hell _was_ that? Because I would never have accused you of being stupid but if that was you marking your territory like I am a fucking lamppost then you are indeed really damn stupid!"

His eyes turned grey when he was angry, she discovered: grey like the sky had filled with too many snowflakes to count.

"You wanted me to just stand there and watch as you made eyes at Kruger?"

His voice was low and dangerously quiet. Stalking up to him she hammered her fists into his chest.

"I am not your personal possession!"

She yelled. "Whether I slept with you, sleep with him and half the damn locker room it has nothing to do with you!"

"Now that's where you're wrong."

He whispered, and moved with that liquid, eerie speed he was capable of. Grabbing hold of her he dragged her in against his body: one hand using her hair as a handle to pull her head back and the other wrapping around her waist, flattening her against him. She cried out at the shock of it; being manhandled like that and the immediate response of her body. It was like a switch had been thrown. From blazing anger she was suddenly drowning in need. From the urge to scratch his eyes out something in her core… submitted. Irrationally she remembered a nature documentary about leopards that she had seen years ago. In heat, the female still put up one hell of a fight until the male either slunk away in defeat or proved beyond doubt to the female that he was man enough, when he finally mounted her the female from snarling, spitting fury to purring submission. Helplessly, she looked up into those beautiful eyes, her lips parting. "Call me a dog with a lamppost?"

He pressed his lips to her ear. "If I have to mark you with my scent until it's dripping from your pores you will know what is absolutely fucking obvious to everyone else. You. Are. Mine. Tonight I'll have you scream who you belong to."


	9. The Addiction

Dean wasn't wrestling that night. Melissa was uncomfortably aware that she had made her decision who to take back to the WWE on that very first night and worse, she had been showing it. Such a blatant show of favouritism was unacceptable and as she had discovered with Joe earlier that day; it had been stopping her from doing her job. Did FCW have some genuine talent that was ready to be elevated to the main roster? Damned if she knew! So Dean was cooling his heels and the rest of the night was devoted to the other hopefuls. Dressed in a ridiculously short, jade green skirt and a cream camisole that was surely, _surely_ meant to be worn under something considerably more substantial, Melissa had twisted her hair up into a boss-like chignon and had a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. Ridiculous! Her in-ring style was getting into some bizarre hybrid of powerful boss and whore secretary, depending on whether it was Maxine or Summer Rae that had managed to grab her first. She was uncomfortably aware that anyone could see the outline of her bra through the thin material; offering up her breasts like a gift. Joe was in the ring with Leo Kruger and Melissa sat at ringside, supposedly making notes on a clipboard. The two guys were going all out: Leo considerably more experienced than the football-playing Joe and yet that black-haired Samoan had… something. Studying them now with unfeigned intensity Melissa felt that maddening tickle at the back of her brain. So inexperienced. So very… mouldable. More than aware that she was thinking of the big man with the same lascivious glee as a pervert with a virgin Melissa attempted to jolt her thoughts away from him. He was _too_ inexperienced. Joe was a guy that was genuinely benefiting from FCW. He needed the careful coaching. And yet…

* * *

The pop from the fans startled her back to reality. Looking up, the camera deliberately trained on her at the time caught the expression of surprise, indignation and concern when she saw Dean slowly sauntering down towards the ring. Oh… God. It ought to be illegal the way that man filled out a pair of jeans. And he didn't even wear them particularly tight! It was simply as if the old, worn denim wrapped around his long, long legs and toned muscles like it relished the chance to caress him. Melissa's tongue flicked out and licked her suddenly dry lips. That old, soft denim clung to the heavy muscles in his thighs, pulled across his hip bones and worshipped the bulge at his crotch. Like she had. Like she was suddenly desperate to again. Pressing her thighs together against the rush of need that threatened to consume her at the simple damn sight of the man she got shakily to her feet. He raised his eyebrows at her; blue eyes deceptively lazy.

"What are you doing out here?"

She hissed. "Today is not about you! Get to the back!"

"That would have really hurt my feelings."

He mocked softly. "But I can't help but notice that whatever you say, you seem really pleased to see me."

His eyes raked over her body and to her horror and embarrassment she felt her breasts swelling beneath his predatory gaze: nipples tingling and tightening into hard little knots. And that stupid blouse did _nothing_ to disguise it! "Pretty."

He drawled, and putting his fingers on her throat, at the visible pulse that was pounding his response to his touch, he dragged them down. The trail of sensation, heat and devastation that followed in their wake was ruinous. Snagging on the fragile silk stuff on the despised blouse he dragged it down a little; fingers dipping into her cleavage before the blouse stopped and he did not. Wracked with a tremor of lust that short-circuited her brain, if he had pushed it further in that moment, she would have submitted.

"That bloody swine!"

Melissa was close enough to the commentary desk to hear William Regal's unlikely English accent clearly. "Ambrose has been terrorising this young woman ever since she arrived in FCW; forcing her to book matches that favour him. He isn't even due to wrestle tonight!"

"Seems to me like he wants to."

Dusty Rhodes replied dryly. Dean flattened his hand against her womb and the heat of his touch seeped inside her, calling answering fire to life and making her ache. Sleeping with him had been a really bad idea, she thought vaguely. Before, whatever hazy speculations she had about Dean Ambrose had been tempered with a shocking lack of experience. Now she knew exactly what Dean could do in bed. Her hand flashed out in some last-minute survival instinct; delicate fingers wrapping around his powerful wrist.

"D…Dean… d… don't!"

Her voice broke. Outside the ring, he might have responded. Melissa was getting to know him better now and whatever DJ thought, there _was_ something softer inside the notorious Jon Moxley. But inside the ring his alter-ego was far closer to the surface. He was more than a little insane, a little dangerous, entirely unpredictable… and Melissa was left clinging to his arm like a raft in the middle of a stormy ocean as she was left drowning in a need so sharp it hurt.

"Ah, ah, ah."

He moved quickly. Glancing up into the ring he grabbed hold of Melissa and swivelled until he was cradling her against his body, his fingers lightly gripping her throat and the other hand still flattened over her womb. "Think about it."

He advised Leo Kruger, who was glaring down at him venomously from the ring, thwarted from what had clearly been intended as a suicide dive right onto Dean.

"Let her go, Ambrose."

Against her back she could feel Dean's deep, scratchy voice rumbling through his chest when he replied.

"Why? A little worried that I've got hold of your meal ticket right now, Kruger? That I have your future contract by the throat? You want her to see you, don't you buddy? You want her to pay attention?"

Even with her back to him Melissa could hear the sneer in his voice. "Give it up! She sees _me_. She pays attention to _me_. And if you think for a second that you can take her eyes off me… Well then, she won't be any use to me anymore, will she? Let's just say I have that old school thinking that if she's not mine, she's not anybody's."

Pale, silent and clinging to Dean's wrist like she was trying desperately to prise him off her, Melissa gazed up at Leo without actually seeing him at all. All she was aware of was Dean's body against hers and how she needed him closer with such a wicked lust that her whole body was beginning to tremble. His hand tightened on her throat, forcing her up on tip toes and he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, nuzzling her hair.

"Easy now, baby."

He breathed into her ear. "You want me so bad I can taste it. Even in the Attitude era the company wasn't ready for me to give you exactly what you need right here and now. But I wanna. Oh Christ, baby, I wanna…"

And from behind he ground his pelvis in against hers, simultaneously plunging his tongue inside the shell of her ear. Melissa spasmed and if they had known it, they actually looked a little similar in that moment: blue eyes blown open, junkies with a taste of the ultimate fix.

"What do you want, Ambrose?"

Leo actually sounded a little shaky, for all he was supposed to be a South African mercenary screw-job his particular brand of insanity just didn't hold a candle to what Dean was playing with. Dean's arms were wrapped around her now; her face turned in against his throat.

"What do I want?"

He mused. "Well I _want_ you gone; out of this competition. Usually I'd get that by asking my lady here, and she'd book the match."

Melissa made an incoherent noise of protest. "But I think right now you're so concerned about her that you'd offer me a match right here and now, wouldn't you Kruger? But she's the boss, don'tcha know? She owns my ass. And she said that Dean Ambrose isn't gonna wrestle tonight. So what I need you to do, sunshine, is right here, right now submit to the Blessed One here and step out of the competition."

Leo's face drew into a rictus of fury and desperation. _You clever little fucker_, Melissa thought distantly. _Suddenly I'm rather grateful that you walked away in CZW because if it had come to a match of wits between us I'm not entirely sure that I would have won_.

"Well?"

Dean taunted. Leo's dark eyes flicked between him and Melissa; calculating the odds of getting out of this when from behind Leakee – waiting patiently so far – swept in. The schoolboy roll-up was as simple as it came but when you were packing 265 pounds it wasn't all that easy to kick out of. Dean's hand flashed out, grabbing the microphone off the ring announcer as he headed into the ring and holding it in front of Melissa.

"Call it."

He demanded grimly. She pressed her lips together and his arm tightened; forcing her body hard back against his. Her eyes rolled back. "Call. It."

"The winner of the match and moving on to the next stage of the WWE contract tournament… Leakee."

Melissa rasped. Dean smirked.

"And stuck forever in the damned FCW without ever getting a sniff of glory: Leo Kruger!"

He taunted. Spinning Melissa around he pressed his shoulder into her midsection and straightened up: lifting her up over his broad shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Ambrose!"

Dusty Rhodes bellowed from the commentary desk. "Ambrose put that little girl down! You said that you'd let her go."

"No I didn't."

Dean replied with amusement. "Screw you, Dusty: I'm not _ever_ going to let her go."

And with the squirming, flailing form of the FCW boss over his shoulder he stalked up the ramp and into the back.

* * *

In the back, in a deserted corner of the arena Dean dropped Melissa down onto a massive wooden packing crate and took a step back, his hands going to his belt and slowly pulling the leather through the loops.

"Yes?"

He asked tersely. Biting her lip so hard she could taste the copper penny tang of blood against her tongue Melissa hesitantly leant back, arching her back to offer up the swell of her breasts and the long, bare legs in the ridiculous mini skirt and stiletto heels.

"Yes."

She whispered, her voice shaking. "God Dean, please!"

Half moaning, half laughing Dean dragged his zipper down and closed the gap between them, wrapping her legs up high around his waist.

"I love the way you respond to me."

Slipping his hand in between their bodies he yanked her cotton underwear sideway so harshly it ripped; falling to the floor at his feet. Pressing his hand against her core his thumb began to circle her swollen, throbbing clit as his long finger pressed inside her. Stifling a shriek Melissa sank her teeth into his shoulder, her nails digging into his biceps as he caught her completely by surprise. She hardly would have called what had just taken place down at ringside foreplay but her body obviously disagreed. At the touch of his thumb wave after wave of sensation crashed over her. Dean growled, watching her avidly as he added another finger; picking up the pace. It took bare seconds until she climaxed; shuddering and writhing against his hand. Hardly letting her come down from the high Dean dragged his jeans down over his hips and gripped his cock in his hand, guiding it to her entrance. Pressing in to the drenched, scalding hole he swore desperately as her inner muscles gripped him, bringing him close to the edge within seconds.

"Dean!"

Changing position so that she balanced right at the edge of the packing crate, Melissa gasped in pleasure as he slid inside her to the root. The way he filled her made her eyes roll back.

"I'm not… gonna… last."

He gritted between his teeth. Melissa didn't want him to last. She wanted what only he had ever been able to give her.

"Harder!"

She gasped. Dean snarled and actually lifting her off the crate, bracing her against the wall he began to use her like she was hardly flesh and blood at all. His hips snapped into hers, driving inside her as their flesh making slick, meaty sounds as it smacked together. It would have been brutal… if it hadn't been the most blissful thing Melissa had ever felt in her life. Her core was pulsing; inner muscles dragging him deeper until the friction threatened to drive her insane. Never in her life had she been so torn between wanting something to last forever and needing it to end before she actually had a heart attack. Heels drumming onto the muscles in his ass as he thrust into her she felt it building higher and higher until the tension was too much. Buried inside her as her arms and legs locked around him, Dean released: both of them soaked with sweat and the scent of each other.

* * *

Back on the crate Melissa's fingers wrapped around the hot, damp nape of Dean's neck. Their forehead were pressed together as they recovered; breath mingling. She stirred and his arms tightened around her.

"Don't leave."

"I was only going to straighten up a little."

_"Don't leave."_

Raw, blue eyes gazed directly into hers and Melissa felt a jolt in what could only be her heart.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She said softly and his lips twisted.

"Everyone always leaves in the end."

And he buried his face against her hair before she could see the expression on his face. Shaken, Melissa did the only thing she could think of. Wrapping her arms around the big, muscular man in front of her she hugged him to her and just held on.


	10. The Affirmation

Melissa looked doubtfully down at her small makeup bag and then discarded it with a sigh. Tampa was too damn hot and sultry for anything but a swipe of waterproof mascara along her lashes. Not that she really needed it. Looking at herself in the mirror Melissa was surprised to see her usually pale cheeks flushed with rose, her blue eyes sparkling and her lips still swollen from Dean's kisses. She looked… _like a woman in love_, her treacherous heart whispered to her. Who needed cosmetics and artifice when there was a man waiting outside for you beyond anything you had ever experienced before? Melissa's stomach twisted unpleasantly. This was not the stuff that romances were made of. His reputation was still an issue and she _knew_ that she had issues. She had lived her whole life encased in ice. No one had ever been able to get close to her. If she was capable of love: a real, heart-bursting, all-consuming, lifetime sort of love then surely she would have felt it with DJ? He loved her! He'd been ready to give her everything. He was a man worthy of love, and the fact that she had been unable to give him anything like what he so richly deserved… She was broken. Should a broken person go into a relationship with a guy like Dean with hope of anything other than he could be the one who finally shattered her into pieces?

"Got to remember that life seen through the looking glass is never the same as what's actually there."

She looked up, startled and through the glass caught sight of Joe leaning against the door frame. His lips curved. "Left is right. What's within easy reach becomes totally unreachable."

She turned around, flushing with embarrassment at being caught studying herself so intently. He must think she was so vain!

"I was just…"

"Soul searching."

He acknowledged with an easy shrug. His grey eyes really were luminous against the tan of his skin and that jet black hair. "A fine thing to do but from the look on your face you weren't coming to any happy conclusions. Come on, boss lady; what have you seen of Tampa so far?"

"Tampa?"

Her eyes widened. "I… I guess I haven't…"

Joe opened the door and ushered her out. Leaning against the wall outside, smoking a cigarette Dean looked startled to see her emerge from the ladies room with Joe of all people: his dinner plate-sized hand resting comfortably on her shoulder.

"You girls have been freshening up?"

He drawled, reaching out the hand that didn't have a cigarette in it. He had changed from the T-shirt he'd worn earlier. The same jeans paired with a black vest and a shirt that might once have been black too. Now a charcoal grey the sleeves were rolled up past his golden forearms and contrasted perfectly with the golden curls tumbling around the collar. Melissa set eyes on him and felt something soar with delight at the sight of him. Seems that the moment he was out of sight she started missing him and nothing could convince her heart that it should be otherwise than him always being within her sight. Her hand slid into his and when he pulled her gently across the space between them she slid in against his side like she had been made to be there. Looking down at her he gave her that quirky, lopsided little smile that was uniquely him.

"Hey."

He said quietly and her lips curved upwards helplessly.

"Hey back."

"We're going out tonight. It would be good for the guys to get to know you as someone other than the scary boss lady."

Joe's smile took the sting out of his words. "Nothing spectacular: a few beers, a little pool. Meet the FCW kiddies."

Startled and suddenly crippled with familiar shyness Melissa stared fixedly down at her feet. She was _terrible_ at nights out! She detested nightclubs and big crowds. During nights out with CZW she'd ended up clinging to DJ - a fact she'd wondered sometimes if he'd secretly enjoyed when she was so independent usually – and struck completely dumb. She didn't _want_ to be like that with Dean. But the alternative was to be utterly alone in the busy, happy group of people.

"Want to?"

Dean himself looked relaxed. "Or we could get something to eat at home and I could take your clothes off with my teeth."

Simultaneously mortified and rather intrigued Melissa found herself laughing.

"Joe's right. I should get to know the people here better before my megalomania takes over and I start thinking of them as just meat puppets for my cunning plans."

Dean gave a bark of laughter.

"And the scary part of that is I'm not even sure that you're kidding."

He flashed Joe a grin. "But I blame you for the loss of sexy fun time."

Joe fluttered his lashes at the blond. "Bill me."

He purred and this time Melissa really did have to laugh at the appalled look on Dean's face.

* * *

The night out was nothing like what she had been dreading. The bar turned out to be run by an English guy called Mick and was faintly reminiscent of home with wood panelling and stained glass accents. It was also devoted to sport and in the L-shaped room one half was playing some football game or other on the massive, flat-screen plasma and the other what looked like a truly brutal game of ice hockey. The bar also had plenty of other pursuits to keep its patrons occupied; including an air hockey table.

"I love that game!"

Melissa exclaimed the moment she laid eyes on it and then blushed vivid red. How cool was she? Much to her amazement the very same Seth Rollins that Dean had been so desperate to murder in the ring two nights ago reacted to this news with genuine glee.

"No shit? Me too! Come on, we've gotta play."

Finding herself caught in a firm grip by the two-toned stunner Melissa looked helplessly over her shoulder at Dean. He grinned.

"You might as well. I'm saving my energy for a moment it'll do you the most good."

And with a cheerfully lecherous wink he sauntered beer-wards and left her to the tender mercies of his major adversary and nemesis.

* * *

"Ha!"

"Nooooooo!"

"Victory!"

Seth yowled with delight and Melissa glared down at the table with dismay. 10-10? She had started out strong but the athlete in Seth was showing through now in stamina and killer instinct and he was fast coming close to whupping her ass.

"I'm a girl! You hit really hard…"

Melissa cradled her cramping hand with its stinging fingers to her chest; blonde hair falling forward to shield her face. Seth hissed in a breath.

"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry! I get really overexcited and over-competitive. People are always telling me what an asshole I am…"

"Less of an asshole than so very gullible."

Melissa replied and with a diabolical grin sent the disc shooting across the table like a guided missile to bury itself in his goal. Seth looked in disbelief as the bell rung her to signal her success.

"You played me? You treacherous bitch!"

From nearby a truly stunning, dark haired woman laughed. Leighla was Seth's long term girlfriend and looked like a supermodel. She was also smart and funny and try as she might; Melissa was finding it _really_ hard to dislike her.

"I've never in my life heard him call a woman a treacherous bitch within ten minutes of meeting her. He likes you!"

"Respect."

Seth agreed with a grin, bumping fists with her and then draping an arm around her shoulders. Sitting nearby, chatting to some other guys with considerably less cussing and yells of glee and defeat than she and Seth had been inflicting upon everyone Dean looked up at her. Their eyes met and a slow smile spread across his face: those blue eyes as clear and warm as summer skies.

"You won?"

"I did!"

"She cheated!"

Seth said indignantly and the smile grew wider.

"That's my girl."

He murmured and for a moment Melissa'a heart stuttered and failed before it roared back into frantic life. Oh… fuck; it was too late, wasn't it? She had already fallen for him.

* * *

"Hey Melli: blast from the past, huh?"

Melissa looked up. Fresh from her victory at air hockey Seth had insisted that she battle him in the best out of three in different games. Safe to say that her pool was not as good as her air hockey and as Seth jauntily cleared the table she was wondering whether she could _accidentally_ crotch him with her pool cue and claw back some dignity. The distraction was therefore welcome anyway but when she saw the familiar CZW logo flashing up on the big TV her smile was genuinely delighted.

"Hey! Is this from the other night?"

"Tangled Web 4."

Mick confirmed. "Masada versus DJ Hyde for the CZW Heavyweight Championship in the ECW Arena."

"I wonder how they explained the choice."

Melissa mused. "I mean I left not so long ago and Masada and DJ weren't connected in any way on TV."

"Seems to me there wasn't any reason."

Dean drawled. "DJ just pulled one of his "I'm the Man and I Can" decisions and just dumped himself into a championship match."

Melissa winced and frowned. Although it was true that when she was working there she sometimes had to temper DJ's enthusiasm that as owner and wrestler he got a little more air time than the other guys might approve of, she didn't like the sneering note in Dean's voice.

"DJ has learned a lot over the years. He wouldn't do that."

"Seems to me that boyfriend still doesn't know jack about booking."

Her eyes widened, face blooming with colour.

"That was unnecessary."

She said through gritted teeth. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"What, that I dared to criticise your beloved DJ?"

"That you're making me out to be some overprotective, adoring idiot!"

She snapped. "What the hell is your problem? I wondered aloud about something that was my entire life for three damned years and you're ripping my head off?"

"Just wondering aloud if he's still a bigger part of your life than what you're admitting to and if he knows anything about _me_."

There was a sudden, deadly silence. Shaken to the core Melissa had no idea how to reply. The friends around them were looking on in awkward embarrassment; or rather looking anywhere _but_ at them. Fists knotted, radiating aggression Dean took a shuddering breath and raked a hand through his hair, shifting his shoulders like his anger was a coat he could just slip off.

"Sorry… I… shit!"

Both hands in his hair now, visibly stressed he half turned his body away from her. Melissa was left faltering: caught somewhere between resentment that he could say such a thing and an instinctive need to comfort his unhappiness. Seth nudged her, trying to move her towards Dean but she resisted. She was not quite ready to put her hands on him yet. Instead she took a breath and settled for the next best thing.

"My round I think. Guys? Same again? Dean? You want another Heineken?"

"My name…"

He said with grim control. "…Is Jon. Did you bother finding out DJ's real name before jumping into bed with him? Did you think with him it _mattered_?"

Pierced by merciless blue eyes Melissa turned around unsteadily.

"I'll get the drinks."

She breathed.

* * *

Would you call it a positive or a negative that she could push even the most unpleasant things out of her conscious thoughts and pretend they never happened? Melissa was trying not to wonder just that after they declared Seth conclusive winner of the pool part of their tournament and moved on to darts. Possibly a risky game at this moment in time; she mused, considering the burning desire to change direction and bury one of them in Dean – oh so sorry, _Jon's_ – insufferable blond head. Asshole! Why should she have called him Jon when in their business it was well known to be invitation only on real names? All along she'd been crying out Dean in the throes of passion and he certainly hadn't protested then! But… but considering their level of intimacy, she should maybe have asked. God only knows where this hostility had sprung from tonight but unless she wanted to walk out of here and vow that she would never have anything more to do with him she should probably make some sort of reconciliatory move. Resentment flared. It was his damn problem; let _him_ apologise! But the thought that this might be over so suddenly and so abruptly sent panicked pain ricocheting through her brain. She did not want it to be over.

"…Looks like Masada is setting DJ Hyde up for something special and they don't call him the Ultraviolent Beast for nothing. Masada can be diabolically creative and I would not want to be DJ right now. But… but… Jesus Christ!"

The exclamation of horror from the CZW announcer on TV and the roar from the fans made Melissa's head whip up. DJ and Masada were competing in the headlined Tangled Web match. One side of the ring was solid metal netting, one side barbed wire roping and the other open to a fiendish platform of "tangled web" barbed wire, glass and God knows what else. Melissa had seen the match three times over the years. Generally the wrestlers got pushed onto that platform and they writhed in pain as they carefully tried to extricate themselves; ending up punctured and bloody but otherwise unharmed so far. Masada was indeed creative. Masada liked to push the envelope. Standing on the top turnbuckle with DJ he was in the process of lifting the boss up over his head. Superplex; Melissa realised distantly. A superplex onto the tangled web. As in slow motion she watched her friend fall backwards, launching DJ up and over his head and sacrificing his own body to the tangled web. Hitting the web at high velocity the rules of physics took over. DJ was close to 300 pounds. Instead of hitting the web he went _through_ it but as a fly caught in that namesake web could struggle and fight in absolute futility; DJ did not go through cleanly. Watching in ice cold shock Melissa watched as a tick rope of wire caught around his neck. He struggled as anyone would and… and…

"Jesus Christ!"

Unwitting echoing the commentator one of the FCW shouted out as the barbed wire rope shifted and ripped open DJ's throat.

"DJ."

Melissa whispered, and ran.

* * *

**_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_**

**_Six Hours Later_**

The hospital nearest the Asylum Arena had a trauma centre as many wrestlers had come to realise over the years. In an ambulance it took about thirteen minutes to get there. All the way from Tampa Melissa prayed those factors increased DJ's odds of survival. She was operating on some other level; her emotions locked down so tightly that nothing was getting through. Walking through the hospital corridors she barely even felt human as she headed in the direction the main desk had pointed her in.

_"You're going up against Masada? Damn DJ, I'd jump right on a plane and fly back to Philly to see that!"_

Her own words rang in her head mockingly as she turned into another waiting room. How in the hell could she have been so flippant about a match like this? She had encouraged him! Why the hell hadn't she been blessed with some sort of sixth sense and begged and pleaded with him not to wrestle? She barely saw the people waiting in there, although she had known some of them for three years. But one of them, she saw clearly. Tall, lithely muscular and powerful Brigham Paul Doane, known more commonly as Masada looked like he'd been through a war. His wavy, chestnut brown hair was tangled in an unholy mess around his broad shoulders. Still wearing his in-ring gear of knee length shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt he was covered in punctures, cuts and slashes. The only clean bit of him was his arm; cocooned in pristine white bandages from where he must have hurt himself in the Web at the same time as DJ. His bright blue eyes were sunken in bruised sockets; his face deathly pale and the cool, edgy piercings and plaited goatee doing nothing to disguise the fact that he looked like a man caught in the depths of hell. When she saw him, the ice around Melissa began to crack. He rose to his feet immediately, walking to meet her in the middle of that sterile, desolate room. Meeting him halfway Melissa's hand was already moving. It connected with his cheek with a sound like a gun shot.

"You _stupid_ fucking bastard!"

And then she crumpled. Catching hold of her by her arms Masada silently pulled her in against his chest, rubbing her shoulders. Heaving with silent sobs, her face pressed against his broad shoulder Melissa knotted her fists in his ripped and bloody T-shirt and hung on.

* * *

They sat beside each other on the uncomfortable steel chairs; his arm still wrapped around her.

"What have you heard?"

She asked eventually; her voice sounding raw and hoarse with her tears. Masada rubbed his face with his free hand.

"The Web ripped open an artery; that's why there was so much blood so fast. I worked with security to get the fucking wire from around him, to give the medics access. We just cut it free; he was still wrapped in the fucking stuff when they finally got him into the ambulance. We came here straight after and they already had him in the ER. They came out about two hours ago saying that they'd rushed him up to surgery."

"He's still alive."

Melissa whispered. She had known, on some level the moment she had seen him waiting but the relief she felt at his words was indescribable. Masada's arm tightened on her and she shifted position: hooking her knees over one of his thighs to be closer. Masada did one better: scooping her into his arms he actually lifted her onto his lap.

"I thought I fucking killed him, Melli."

He rasped and wrapping his arms around her he buried his face against her hair. Holding onto him, Melissa felt his body shaking against hers although he made no noise. Feeling his anguish, she was the one to offer him absolution.

"He's going to be OK, 'Sada. Accidents happen all the time and this is CZW; we have more than most. But he'll be OK. He'll be _OK_."

And hiding her face against a cloud of hair that smelled like tobacco smoke, sweat and blood she just prayed that she was telling him the truth.

* * *

Hospital coffee was truly vile but she had drunk enough of the stuff to cover her tongue in foul-tasting fuzz. There was a group of them gathered in the waiting room. Still sitting beside Masada, on her other side Devon Moore had twined his fingers with hers. Melissa was not quite sure whether she was being comforted or comforting _him_; and just in case it was the latter she did not pull away. None of them were surprised to see her there: the boss' girlfriend that had abandoned him for the WWE. They accepted her back like she was one of their own.

"Here."

She looked up in time to catch a flying sandwich from Drake Younger.

"I'm not hungry."

She gave him a wan smile of thanks and tried to give the sandwich to Masada. He ignored her, methodically ploughing through the beef and mustard that Drake had given him. The locker room leader shook his head.

"You've got to eat something, Melli. _Dev will you not steal her fucking sandwich_? We don't know how long we'll be here."

"You got me egg."

Devon said mournfully. "I fucking hate egg."

"Well you're not swapping with me."

Melissa revived enough to cuddle her ham and tomato protectively to her chest. "Even the smell makes me sick. Go sit somewhere else with your stinky eggs!"

Drake smiled slightly, sitting down nearby and slow unwrapping something of his own.

"I got a call, 'bout an hour or two ago."

He said slowly. Taking a bite of the sandwich and discovering somewhat to her amazement that she actually was famished Melissa raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "From my boy Mox."

The bite of sandwich transformed into a lump of concrete in her throat. Shit. She had totally forgotten that Drake and Dean… _Jon_ were close friends from Jon's indie days. Of course that hadn't ended just because Jon had left CZW.

"What did he want?"

She asked thickly. Devon helpfully offered her a swig of his Coke; listening intently to every word. Another close friend of Jon's, she remembered. She wondered if he had any idea that unintentionally she had gravitated towards the people he loved the most of CZW. Drake was watching her thoughtfully.

"Asked how DJ was. Asked if you'd got here safely."

She took a breath and nodded quickly, trying to get her heartbeat under control. She could not think of him right now. "Didn't realise you two knew each other all that well."

"We just met a few days ago. I'm visiting FCW."

Drake nodded.

"Got his number?"

The concrete lump seemed to expand to the size of a beach ball. No, she did not have his number, had not known his real name, had just fallen into bed with him without knowing much at all about the man that she had found herself falling for. And as though he could read it on her face Drake silently held out his cell to her.

"What the hell am I supposed to say?"

She asked bitterly. "I just _left_, Drake."

Drake's lips curved up.

"Seems to me that "Hey honey, I'm OK. I'll be back soon" is as good a thing as any."

"Men are easy."

Devon agreed cheerfully, polishing off the last of the despised egg and looking around for something else. "It's women that you to spend an hour composing a message to and read it back ten times just to check that they won't be able to find any "hidden meanings" in it. I mean, what is that? Hidden meanings? I mean what's so difficult about hey babe, want to meet up for a drink? It means I wanna get you naked, and if we can mix alcohol up with that then so much the better. That's what it _always_ means!"

Quiet so far, Masada gave a snort of laughter.

"That is what it usually means."

He agreed. Smiling despite herself Melissa summoned up all of her courage and took the cell. She kept it simple.

_"Jon, sorry for rushing out on you. I'll be back when I know that DJ is OK. Melissa."_

Pressing send before she could think better of it she proceeded to watch the phone like a hawk yet still almost had a heart attack when it buzzed about ten minutes later.

_"Come back to the apartment."_

Reading it, she closed her eyes against a rush of relief. It wasn't over. This was followed by such a flood of guilt that she almost threw up. She was working on her love life whilst DJ was in surgery with his throat ripped open? What kind of a horrible person was she?

* * *

Before she had the chance to really begin to rip herself apart, a tall, thin man in a doctor's coat walked in through the door. The guys' stiffened like pointers.

"Mr Markland is out of surgery and in recovery."

Masada and Melissa exploded to their feet.

"Is he alright?"

"Did the surgery go well?"

They babbled simultaneously. The doctor actually smiled.

"The surgery was a complete success. He'll be fine but he lost a lot of blood and he's very weak. He'll need to stay in the hospital for a few days to keep him under observation."

"Oh thank _fuck_."

Devon summed up all their feelings most succinctly.

"Ms Moran?"

The doctor looked at her enquiringly and she managed a shaky nod. "You're listed as his next of kin in an emergency. Would you like to see him?"

Still listed as his next of kin? Jesus. Had he just never got around to changing it or… or… had some part of him believed that she would be back before such an emergency ever arose? Nodding jerkily she peeled herself away from the guys.

"I'll find out how he is."

She promised them and they nodded, settling back down into the chairs. She was just following the doctor out of the room when Masada called out her name.

"Melli? Can you tell him…? You know…?"

"I'll tell him, 'Sada."

She said gently.

* * *

DJ was white as a sheet and motionless in the hospital bed. His neck completely swaddled in thick bandages he had an IV going into his hand and one going into the crook of his elbow; dripping blood, fluids and painkillers slowly back into his body. Sitting on the chair next to him she took one of his big paws into her smaller hands.

"DJ."

She murmured, smoothing back his short, silken hair off his forehead. His eyes flickered open and the blue grey depths looked hazily back at her through a fog of trauma and medication. Recognition slowly dawned.

"Melli."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Hey. You gave us a scare."

He sighed and half smiled, his eyes fluttering closed again like they were too heavy to keep open for long.

"Didn't mean to."

He mumbled, and slipped back under.

* * *

She stayed with him for three hours until he surfaced enough from the surgery and medication to realise what was going on around him. Propped up in bed his big hand pressed Melissa's over his heart. The steady beat comforted her as nothing else could have and she dropped her head down onto his shoulder: worn out.

"A superplex onto the Web? _Really_?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

He replied, half smiling at her ferocious glare.

"You came up from Tampa? Just to see me?"

"Well it wasn't for a cheese steak, you idiot."

She grumbled and he laughed before wincing. His hand lifted up to his neck and prodded the bandages.

"Feels like I almost ripped my damn head off."

"That would have been hard to beat for whoever took over."

She replied weakly. "A ratings winner for sure."

Pulling her hand he dragged her half over his prone body and catching her up in a tangle of sheets and arms and plastic tubing he pressed his lips to hers. He tasted of blood but he was real underneath her and blessedly, blissfully _alive_. She kissed him with unrestrained ferocity, feeling his heart rate accelerate like a Ferrari beneath her as she convinced herself with purely physical imprinting that he was alright. With a rumbling moan DJ pulled her the rest of the way on top of him until her knees were hugging his hips and maybe it was difficult for a man with severe blood loss to achieve an erection but he seemed to be giving it the good old college try.

_"Mr Markland!"_

The scandalised voice of the nurse behind them stopped them both dead. Melissa gave her a sickle sweet smile.

"He's feeling much better!"

She said brightly as beneath her DJ covered his face with one hand and shook with silent laughter.

"I see that."

The nurse replied acidly. "But if it isn't too much to ask could you please not mount the patient after three hours in surgery!"

* * *

**_Tampa, Florida_**

**_One Day Later_**

Standing at the door of a little studio apartment in Tampa Melissa was trembling despite the now-familiar humid heat. The flight to and from Philly in such rapid succession had completely scrambled her wiring. DJ had told her to get his key and sleep in the apartment but she was not cruel enough to offer him that false hope. He was injured and she had come running but she could not, _would_ not pretend that it was forever. The door opened and Jon stood there in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. Somewhere deep inside her heart she was aware that she was standing at a crossroads with DJ on one side and Jon on the other. She had not realised that when she had set out on her own she had still been leashed firmly to a lifeline running straight back to her ex: one tug and he could reel her right back home to safety. She looked at this man and realised that all the time, he had known. Her smile was ghastly on trembling lips.

"I… I think I messed up."

She said, and felt the tears break free from her eyes.

* * *

They sat side-by-side on the couch, her hands wrapped around a mug of Swiss Miss hot chocolate. He had been silent so far; just pushing her down gently and bustling around the tiny apartment as he fixed her the drink. Now settled beside her, he just waited and slowly, falteringly she began to talk.

"I was – am – a loner. Never really had any friends when I was growing up. My head was always buried in a book and as I got older and started writing the characters in my head seemed better than the people around me. At school the other kids thought I was cold. I just didn't have the social skills to convince them otherwise. It was the same through college and university."

She looked at him for understanding and he jerked his head. "I was twenty three when I met DJ. I can't say that I was any warmer with him than I'd been to anyone else but suddenly there was this big, confident American and he barely even paused for a minute, you know? He just said I was shy and that was OK; he'd start talking and when I felt a little better I could join in."

Her lips tilted upwards at the memory.

"He kind of swept me off my feet. I had no life at all in England and before I knew it I was in Philly, working for CZW and we were a couple. And he's a good guy, Jon. I owe him everything I have now. Do you get that? Before DJ there was _nothing_."

Jon's forehead furrowed. He was looking at her now, really looking, like he was trying to figure something out. Melissa took a deep breath and continued. "He had it all planned out. Between the two of us CZW was really making changes. We were drawing more, booking bigger names because of it. We could have really made it something."

Her voice cracked. She looked fixedly down at her drink.

"I saw the ad for a new writer in WWE. I applied before I could even think about it. I got the job. I took it."

Her sentences were becoming more and more clipped, his fingers locking around the mug until they turned white from the pressure. And Jon finally spoke.

"Guilt? All this from fucking _guilt_?"

He looked at her incredulously, his curls falling into his blue eyes. She glared at him at her words came out like they'd been pushed down like compressed magma for three years and suddenly erupted.

"Yes guilt! Guilt because he could have anybody, fuck knows I've seen enough women throw themselves at him over the years and he chose me when _I don't fucking love him, _Jon! But I took what he had to give me! I used him as a springboard just like all those CZW wrestlers did when they moved on to bigger and better things. Don't you get it yet? I owe him so much more than what I've given him! I owe him!"

"You don't owe him your entire fucking future!"

"Some sort of a future is exactly what I owe him!"

They were both on their feet now, glaring each other.

"So, what? You'll go back to him and give him your lukewarm love and think you're doing the guy a _favour_? Bull. Shit. You know what this really comes down to, Melli? You're scared. You're fucking terrified because he was the first guy that looked your way and you think he's gonna be the last."

Melissa felt like he'd hit her in the solar plexus with a baseball bat.

"Isn't he?"

She whispered. Jon was practically tearing his hair out.

_"No!"_

He roared. "Jesus Christ you are the most clueless women I've ever met! Don't you get it yet or do you think I pull this shit with every woman I lay eyes on? _I_ want you! And you know what, you want me right back, just as much and there isn't a damn thing that's lukewarm and sweet between us. We are all scalding heat, honey. We are fire and energy and pure, blinding _life_. With DJ you felt like you've been dying little by little over the past three years but with me you've lived ten years in the last three days. And you're walking away from this because you think the fact that he loves you is the most important thing here? No! We set eyes on each other and it's like I've been waiting for you all my fucking life. And I will not let you go back to him, you hear me? I want you right here!"

Melissa looked up at him silently; her eyes massive in her suddenly pale face. Jon took a shaking breath and the apocalyptic passion seemed to drain out of him.

"I want you around."

He mumbled. Slowly, shakily Melissa took a step forward and put her hands against his chest. He was looking down; embarrassed and defeated and she made a soft, incoherent noise of protest, slipping her hands up to cup his face. With a groan he pulled her against him and pulling her up onto her tiptoes he kissed her like she was the air he breathed. Their lips bruised, bodies straining against each other to be close and still closer. When they finally had to break for air Jon slumped back against the wall, bringing his height down closer to hers and cradling her between his legs. They rested their foreheads together; just breathing.

"I was so alone."

Melissa whispered. "Always. So lonely. But every single second was worth it if it brought me to you. If I get to keep you."

She felt his breath puff out in a soft laugh.

"Keep me then. You and me, baby: we belong together."


	11. The Motivation

Life is not like a porno flick. People are not ready to bang at the drop of a hat. Two people who have both had a fairly hideous day with their emotions all over the place especially might find it hard to crank up the horny to eleven. Melissa leant against the tiled wall of Jon's shower and let the water cascade over her; mingling with her tears. She was not upset as such; she did not need Jon to comfort her. She just needed the release. Finally the sobs turned into hiccupping gasps and she got on with the business of washing her hair and scrubbing off the accumulated travel grime. Wandering out into the apartment wearing a long T-shirt she favoured as a nightshirt she found Jon stretched out on the bed, drinking a beer in the same boxers and T-shirt he'd greeted her in.

"Want one?"

He asked and she shook her head with a smile.

"I'm just going to dry my hair."

Sitting on the edge of the bed she dug the hairdryer out of her bag and blasted it through her long locks. Usually she fussed around with heat defence sprays and frizz-eases and various other products that may or may not be essential to a woman's crowning glory. That night she simply couldn't be bothered. If she woke up and her hair was all Frizz-Monster from the Everglades then hopefully she'd have time to put it right before Jon woke up. She switched off the dryer as Jon took a final swig of beer and tossed the empty with impressive aim into the garbage.

"So goddamn tired."

He groaned and held a hand out to her. "C'mon. If I promise to make a real effort at a night to remember tomorrow will you mind that I'm a total limp dick tonight?"

Melissa grinned.

"If your dick was anything else _but_ limp tonight I'd be running away from it."

"Good to know."

He mused, sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head. Watching with wide eyes Melissa saw the boxers flying across the room a moment later. Seeing the look on her face he looked devilishly amused. "Caught somewhere between longing and dread."

He mocked softly and grinned.

"Come and snuggle with Mr Happy, baby."

"You are vile."

She sniffed haughtily. She paused for a moment. Never in three years with DJ had she been comfortably naked with him. He might have caught the occasional glimpse before she dived beneath the covers. But it was this accursed heat in Florida! If she slept in her nightwear then most likely she'd wake up an hour later in a pool of sweat. Oh… what the hell. Whipping the long T-shirt off she threw it aside and looked at Jon almost challengingly. He snorted.

"I should probably be flattered that even when I tell you I'm fucking exhausted you still think I'm good for at least one explosion of dynamite."

Blushing furiously and laughing she slapped his thigh reprovingly and then lay down beside him. Lay on his side with his lower arm tucked beneath the pillow he wrapped the other around her and moulded their bodies together. The shock of skin was immediate, especially _his_ skin and as his thighs sandwiched one of hers between them she felt a frisson of awakening desire. Her nipples hardened; rubbing against his chest and he made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a growl: swelling hard against her stomach.

"Fuck, you could raise the dead."

He sighed and tightened his arm around her. "Will you please stop wriggling like that?"

His slightly pitiful tone made her giggle but once she got over how good he felt against her, she was left with how safe she felt in his arms. Tucking her head into that place between his neck and shoulder she snuggled in against him. The heat of his body began to seep into hers and the skin of his back felt so good beneath her hand that she began to stroke soothing circles onto him. Jon sighed; some tension slowly easing out of him. He was so responsive to touch, she mused as she relaxed. She wondered if he even realised that with one sweep of her hand against him his eyes went half-mast with pleasure and contentment. One day she should take the time and just pet him. They could both use it, she thought with a faint smile. They were both a little starved of simple, non-sexual intimacy. His breath brushed through her hair and as they both relaxed their bodies melted together. They slept.

* * *

Melissa still had half her mind on casual intimacies the next morning. Running late after a thirteen hour sleep marathon they picked up breakfast on the way to the arena. Sitting on one of the chairs facing the practice ring Jon was lacing up his wrestling boots but had paired them with baggy, navy blue shorts and a simple white vest that showed off his tan. Sunglasses had been pushed to the top of his head and held back the curls and he looked healthy, fit but with that intangible touch of wildness that Melissa could never quite pin down. Something about the eyes, maybe…

"Here."

She said lightly, once she'd pulled the coffees from the cardboard holder and left one black as sin – his - and the other lavished with milk and sugar – hers. Passing it to him, their fingers brushed and the small touch made her tingle. Remembering her thoughts from last night, just for an experiment she ran her hand across his shoulders from the back; leaning in against his side and twining her fingers through the baby soft curls at his nape. It was subtle but it was _there_, the way his head drooped forward slightly to give her better access and the way he shifted his weight to lean more heavily into her in turn.

"Are you hungry?"

She asked: so delighted with the success of her experiment that she was positively beaming at him. His eyes softened, becoming blue as a tropical ocean and he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Yeah."

He agreed and she tried to summon up the will to leave his side and actually do something about the fruit and pancakes that lay in their Styrofoam container nearby. Jon laughed softly; the sound sexy as hell with that husky edge she was beginning to recognise. "Am I supposed to eat _you_?"

He murmured and from contented togetherness the way their bodies pressed together was clearly filling them both with quite different feelings. Visions of him doing exactly that filled her head and the rush of heat through her lower parts had her dearly wishing that she could just straddle his lap right here and now and take the edge of her suddenly keen need. Jon smirked, his hand dropping down to caress her ass and she shivered.

"So you two _are_ a couple then?"

They both looked up sharply at the rude interruption. Bo Rotundo looked like a star, and she had been impressed as hell at first that such a young kid could hold the heavyweight belt. He flipped his almost waist length cascade of coffee bean brown hair over his shoulder and secured it with a band. "That makes you kinda biased, doesn't it? Why waste all our time with this tournament thing when he's in your pants and obviously the one that you'll be taking back to New York."

Jon's eyes narrowed and she felt the sudden tension thrumming through his body but Melissa had this one well in hand. Straightening up she looked him up and down thoughtfully.

"It seems you're working under the illusion that if I wasn't with Jon then it would be _you_ going to New York, Bo. I could be celibate as a convent full of nuns but the simple fact is that you're too young, too inexperienced and you haven't figured out your character yet which is why you aren't over with the fans. I will give whoever goes back to New York one hell of a push but I'm not God: I need something to work with."

There was a snort of laughter from nearby. "Ooh, _burn_!"

Seth Rollins crowed gleefully and Bo's face flushed a dark red. Turning on his heel he stalked out of the gym without another word. Left behind Joe sauntered over.

"I really hate that kid."

He mused. "And I try to feel bad about it, honest I do."

The room filled with the deep tones of the three men's laughter. Hopping down from the ring Seth came over: his super-toned body displayed in short black shorts and a Ring of Honour shirt.

"That clueless, green kid is our champion? It's a damned injustice! Even the teenage girls hate him."

Melissa's eyes narrowed, fixing on Seth with sudden intensity. There it was again! That maddening itch; an idea _just_ out of reach…

"Are you plotting world domination again or are you still pissed that you and Seth are currently 1-1?"

Jon asked her with amusement and it was gone again. Jerking back to reality she pulled a face at him and then blushed scarlet when Seth draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Hey sweetie, I wanted to ask you how DJ was but I didn't have your number."

"Hint much?"

Joe rumbled, laughing. Melissa was so flustered by the easy affection that she started to stutter.

"He… He's f…f…fine. It was t…touch and go but he'll be f…fine. You want… You want…?"

Seth beamed at her.

"Your number? Yeah! It's awesome about DJ You've gotta be stone cold crazy to work in CZW, man. Stooooooone cold crazy."

He slanted Jon an evil smirk and the blond amiably flipped him the bird.

"Stone cold crazy but with balls, man. _Big_ balls. Not like the nut-less wonders in ROH."

Rolling her eyes as they bickered she caught Joe's eyes by chance and in silent agreement they turned aside and left the two to it.

"Seriously though, that was one hellacious thing to happen with DJ. Are you OK?"

Melissa bumped her hip affectionately against the big Samoan's.

"Better for seeing myself that he was alright."

Joe nodded with satisfaction at the answer and then squeezed her shoulder with a massive hand.

"Don't let kids like Rotundo get you down. No one will be surprised when Jon goes up to the WWE. He was ready to do an angle with Mick Foley; did you know? But there was zero chance of Foley being able to get back into the ring again so it fell through."

Melissa hummed thoughtfully. The argument had escalated now and Seth and Jon were tumbling into the practice ring.

"Joe? Hey Joe! Come and referee! CZW versus Ring of Honour; we'll settle this like men!"

Joe arched an eyebrow at her in silent enquiry but she smiled and patted his arm.

"Try and stop them from killing each other."

"I'd say I'd try and keep him pretty for his lady but with a face like that, I'm no miracle worker."

He taunted as he walked towards the ring. Jon extended both arms to him, middle fingers raised.

"Screw you. Don't you have a shampoo commercial to star in?"

Laughing softly to herself Melissa left them to it and took her breakfast out of the gym and over to the office.

* * *

Deep into planning with Steve and his henchmen Melissa glanced at her phone when it rang and felt her heart sink. The office.

"Yes?"

"Melissa, how's it going down in Tampa?"

Aw Christ, it wasn't just the office it was Stephanie McMahon herself.

"Eventful."

She replied weakly and her boss laughed.

"It seems so. I had no idea you had aspirations to be on TV."

"I don't!"

Melissa yelped, feeling her face flooding with colour. Bloody hell; she was on a sixth month probation as it was, she could not afford the McMahon's to think that she was using creative as a platform to launch her own TV career. "Steve… I was helping him out. He thought that the whole thing made a great angle."

"And it does."

Stephanie agreed. "You're doing an extremely impressive job down there but unfortunately what Tampa has gained, we have lost. We need you back in Stamford, Melissa."

So soon. Melissa had known that she'd have to go back, of course she had but she'd believed that she had at least another week. She felt her throat tightening.

"The angle with the contract is set to run for a while yet."

"It'll have to run without you."

Stephanie replied without sympathy. "We can spare you for a day a week, maybe two and believe me it _will_ be noted what you're doing for our developmental but I'll need to see you at your desk tomorrow."

Christ!

"I'm not anywhere near ready to introduce someone to the WWE by tomorrow!"

"Then he'll have to wait."

Stephanie's voice softened. "My father will judge your performance on official WWE stats. Don't make yourself look bad."

She was going to have to be on that plane to Stamford, wasn't she? FCW was supposed to secure her job, not lose it.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

Melissa said quietly.

* * *

Jon listened silently and then calmly lashed out at one of the garbage cans; sending it flying across the back and sending litter spilling everywhere. Melissa winced but couldn't blame him. At least he allowed himself that outlet whereas she was bottling so much up inside her throat was aching ferociously, like she was trying to swallow down a football.

"When will you be back?"

He rasped. Melissa wrapped her arms around herself for comfort.

"Next week. Once Smackdown is taped to be shown on Friday we'll plan the next week. But after that I'll be able to fly down for a couple of days."

He calmed slightly.

"Not forever then?"

Her head snapped up with sharp incredulity and behind the anger and arrogance she saw the uncertainty lurking in his eyes. Belatedly she realised his crossed arms and slightly hunched shoulders offered the same protection to him as her slightly girlier version did for her. Walking up to him she gently gripped his hips and dropped her head down onto those folded arms.

"Forever? A week sounds bad enough."

With a soft groan he dropped his arms and wrapped them around her.

"Sorry. Sorry. I know I'm a suspicious bastard but…"

His voice tailed off. She tried to smile for him.

"You think all this talk about a WWE contract was an excuse to get into your pants?"

Amusement flashed briefly in his eyes and then he sighed, leaning back against the wall and pulling her with him.

"So I've got a long distance girlfriend, huh? You're gonna have to start sending me sexy naked pictures to keep me occupied through the week."

Melissa pinched his ass and he yelped.

"Right back at you, stud."

She drawled evilly. "Try and find yourself a fireman's helmet otherwise I'm going to be really disappointed."

* * *

**_Stamford, Connecticut_**

**_Three Days Later_**

_ Melissa was dreaming: confusing, abstract images of herself running down endless corridors wearing a long, white princess dress. Figures haunted her: the other guys from creative, the top-tier superstars that they'd claimed for their own and she could never touch._

_"Injustice!"_

_Seth Rollins roared, dressed as Batman whilst Joe swung in on a rope and began laying out bad guys left and right. And then Jon was there: little black bat ears nestling amongst his golden curls._

_"Trust me."_

_He whispered, holding out a hand to her. Melissa hesitated and then reached out, their fingers almost touching…_

* * *

Sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping Melissa punched the virginal white pillow in sheer, adrenalized glee.

"Fuck you, boys! You think the pretty little lady has to stay down and make the coffee? After this I'm going to be getting to the top by using your corpses as a damned stepladder! I am that damned good!"

Unable to stay in bed for a second later she launched herself over to her desk and grabbed a notepad, beginning to scribble feverishly. Here it was: the idea that had been lurking on the very edges of her consciousness. And if it worked, oh sweet Christ, if it worked… they were going to be untouchable.


	12. The Homecoming

God but it had been a long, _long_ week. Not that she hadn't been busy: the few days in Tampa had meant a pretty hellacious workload once she got back to Stamford, and with the planning on her new idea then she ended up working late into the night, every night. But once she got to bed, even exhausted as she was she became aware of how empty it was. She'd spent two nights with Jon and apparently it had been more than enough to ruin her for life. The man left a space as big as Alaska when he wasn't there. And it wasn't even that she missed him physically, although she did. Oh man, she really did! Several nights of waking up from a scorchingly explicit erotic dream where he was doing all the things to her that her body had grown to crave; her heart pounding and her core dripping wet and ready for a man who was thousands of miles away had put Melissa into a cranky mood. But no, it wasn't just that. Rather she found herself going over things that he said, and smiling. She found herself collecting little anecdotes to share with him; turning around and feeling a shock of pain in her chest when he wasn't there. How did that make any sense at all? He'd never been in Stamford! A guy like Jon would rip through this structured space like Hurricane Ambrose. But maybe it wasn't the WWE headquarters that her heart was convinced he belonged. Maybe it was simply that he belonged beside her.

"Hey."

Her breath came out in a rush of relief and pleasure when the line connected. Over the phone his voice softened and warmed until it drizzled like honey into her ears.

"Heyyyyyyy."

He murmured. "How's it going, beautiful girl?"

"Good! Busy but… well, I had an idea."

She said slowly. "I think you might be interested. It's you but… evolved. Dean Ambrose 2012."

Jon's attention sharpened audibly: from a lazy, lounging lion basking in the sun to hunting predator.

"Yeah? So tell me already!"

"It's something that I want to see your face for."

"So when's the next time you're gonna see my damned face?"

Jon groaned and Melissa instinctively recognised the frustration and thoroughly pissed off need in his voice. She felt a flush of warmth blossom inside her. He missed her then? She gave a shy, shaky laugh.

"Um… in about four hours' time, I think."

"Huh?"

"I'm at the airport. I'll arrive in Tampa around midnight. I can get a taxi outside and be at yours around one am if you don't want missing a little beauty sleep."

Jon's breath caught and she heard him slowly exhale down the line.

"You think I mind waiting up for you? Fuck, Melli. This has been a really shitty week."

"I know."

She murmured and for a long moment they were silent, just clinging to their cell phones and the connection they offered: however distant. In the airport there was a squawk of static over the announce system and she saw the check in desk open its shutters. "I have to check in, OK? I'll see you soon."

"Soon."

He agreed. "Fly safe, baby."

Melissa walked off the plane, her heart already fluttering. She'd only brought her bag with her as hand luggage to save her time collecting a case. She didn't need all that much anyway: as before she'd barely manage a day or two in Tampa before having to return to the north. Passing through customs quickly and heading off in the direction of the taxi rank at high speed she paused abruptly. Leaning against the wall, looking right at her with that smile curving his lips he was relaxed and languid as though he would happily have let her walk right past him. Not that it was very likely. Jon wasn't as huge as some of the other guys in the business but he was plenty big enough and somehow he always seemed to create a clear space around him. But the observation was pushed aside and Melissa's feet were already moving, gaining speed, Jon's hand reaching out to pull her home. Their bodies collided, driving Jon back into the wall and strong fingers slid through her hair: that warm, plush mouth sealing over hers and the kiss flooding through her veins like heroin. Pressing into him, pressing closer and all thoughts of plots and plans and world domination completely forgotten. Everything else became a faded shadow and reality bent until it was only Jon: so alive, so real, so much of everything that he made her forget that she had ever wanted anything else. Her arms around his neck Melissa stood on tiptoe and gave in to it: kissing him back with a hunger that frankly startled her. Their tongues touched and twined and the taste of him was utterly familiar: coffee and cigarettes with that addictive undertone that was all him. With a low growl he cupped her ass in his hands, lifting her up to grind her in against his growing erection and she moaned into his mouth. Her fingers tangled up in his silken curls, pulling him down and sucking his tongue into her mouth. He was rock hard against her now: likely the fact that it was his back against the wall and not hers that stopped this from getting X-rated with quite indecent haste. And she wanted it, Melissa realised: she _needed_ him with every beat of her racing heart and the way the ache inside her had ratcheted up to a level that was going to drive her crazy until it was satisfied, now! Gasping, they broke for air and gazed at each other. His pupils had dilated to a point where those summer blue irises were the thinnest of lines around hungry black.

"Jon…"

Her voice was a little higher pitched than usual: slightly panicked. "I want you."

His eyes half closed, a tremor running through him as her words tested the boundaries of his self-control. Out of sight of any onlookers he took her hand and slid it between their bodies to press against his rigid hard on. Her mouth went dry, her tongue nervously licking at her lips but the excitement of doing this right here, right in the middle of all these people made her heart rate stutter and a flood of heat between her legs. And he saw it.

"Fuck knows how you hide it."

He purred: his hungry blue eyes fixed avidly on hers. "Fool everyone into thinking what a good little girl you are. But I'm not fooled. I see you."

Lightning flickered in his electric blue gaze. "I know what you need."

And pushing himself up from the wall he gripped her hand and began to stride through the airport; towing her along behind him. She had to half run to keep up with his long strides but that was oddly exciting too: proof that he was so much bigger and stronger than she was. He turned sharply into the corridor that led to the bathrooms, pushing open the door to the disabled stall. She watched as he slowly clicked the lock on the door, shutting off the entire bathroom. Her mouth was suddenly dry, her body shivering a little and she gasped when he caught hold of her waist in his big hands and lifted her effortlessly up onto the sink unit. They kissed hungrily, devouring each other ravenously and his hands wandered up her bare thighs, exploring the soft skin. She shuddered with desire, legs on either side of him and she caught hold of his ass. The soft trousers clung to the firm, tight globes and she filled her hands with his flesh, pulling him in against her. Her pelvis in tight against his he arched her upper body backwards, supporting her with his hands as his mouth found her chest. Her breath was coming in gasps now, her legs wrapping around his upper thighs to keep him tight against her. She unfastened his belt, roughly pulling it apart and as though she gave him some sort of consent his hands pushed her skirt up over her hips, his thumbs hooking into the delicate material of her underwear. She parted company with hers at the same time as she pulled him free from his black Calvin's. Her hand closed around him as he splayed his between her legs. He used her own juices to slowly move his hand against her, slipping a finger inside her and she cried out, her hand tightening around his solid length. He groaned: eyes fluttering closed.

"That's right."

He gasped, locking his eyes with hers as her hand moved up and down his thick length, loving the way his skin was so velvet soft over the steel of his erection. They brought each other to the very brink until suddenly he pulled her hand away and positioned himself just outside her. She braced her arms against the cool Formica surface, her head falling back as inch by tormenting inch he pushed inside her. It felt _so_ good; brushing over nerve endings that had her whole body shaking with pleasure. Slowly he drew out: his length dripping with her juices until satisfied that he had the space he needed his muscular hips drove his deep back inside her. The strength of him was impressive and only heightened her arousal, rocking with his powerful thrusts and she was so ready, it felt so good…

"Jon!"

Her orgasm crashed into her like the end of the world.

She couldn't seem to catch her breath, chest heaving and skin sticky with sweat and his seed. He hadn't used any protection but that didn't seem to matter right now. He still stood between her thighs, head hanging and the air was heavy with the scent of musk: pure pheromone it seemed as even now she still wanted to cling onto him. Christ but if the intensity of your orgasm killed a corresponding amount of brain cells then she was cabbage status round about now. Slowly he straightened up, tucking himself back inside his pants and fastening his belt. His shirt hung outside and his hair was dishevelled but she didn't think he'd ever looked as good to her as he did at that moment. He walked into one of the cubicles and emerged with a handful of toilet paper. Running the tap he silently parted her thighs and began to clean her. The intimacy startled her, as did the mess but even so recently satisfied the feel of his hand against her caused her back to arch, pressing herself to him with a soft moan. His eyes sparked with fire and he kissed her with a lazy and languorous skill that had her pressing against him for more. He broke away with a soft but heartfelt curse.

"Can't spend all night in here."

He said wryly. "We got lucky in your hotel room but something tells me the airport guys will be in less of a rush just to get rid of us and avoid the scandal."

She blushed, her eyes dropping demurely to the floor. Giving a soft gasp of laughter he grasped her around the waist and swung her down to the floor. "Giving me the shy eyes?"

He mocked. "But baby, I'm just not the sort of girl to get arrested for public indecency!"

He adopted a feminine voice and fluttered his eyelashes at her, laughing when she smacked him.

"You are vile! A pig and a bad, bad man."

She put her hands on her hips and tossed back her hair haughtily; ruining the show by laughing softly when he pulled her in against his body and kissed her.

"But I'm your bad, bad man."

He whispered against her ear and in that moment, airport or security or not she would have set up house with him in that bathroom. Wrapping her arms around his waist she tucked her head beneath his chin and snuggled in against him.

"I missed you."

She admitted softly. His arms tightened around her.

"Let's go home."

They didn't talk much on the drive back to his apartment. She was content to sit in the passenger seat beside him and rest a hand on his muscular thigh. He carried her bag inside the apartment, locked the door behind them and turned around to find her already sitting on the edge of the bed. Walking towards her he kicked off his shoes, pulled his T-shirt off over his head and had his belt unbuckled before he even got to her. Watching him with longing, adoring eyes Melissa's eyes widened when he paused in front of her. Blonde curls hanging into his eyes he slowly unsnapped the buttons on his Levi's; easing them down over his thighs and his underwear with them. He was heart-shatteringly gorgeous. She'd compare him to a Greek god but generally the statues that she'd seen of them hadn't possessed glowing, golden skin criss-crossed in places with old scars, hadn't had darker, day old stubble on their jaws or such a very knowing look in their eyes as he watched her watch him.

"Arms up."

He murmured and she obediently lifted them like a child at bath time. Grasping the hem of her dress he pulled the whole thing up over her head to leave her in the matching blush pink demi bra to her previous discarded panties. Settling down beside her on the bed he grasped her around the waist and effortlessly swung her up to straddle him. His hands almost spanned her waist, she realised with a shiver of arousal. Pulling her down to kiss him she gasped as the catch on her bra released under his skilful hands and the lace cups slid down from her breasts. He replaced the soft material immediately with his hands and as his thumbs circled her aching nipples she keened softly with the pleasure of it. This time was different: infinitely slower and more tender as she sank down on top of him and began to move. Pleasure began to lap at her lower parts as she rode him, instinctively clenching her muscles around his girth until they both gave broken sighs. She supported herself with her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm, feeling it start to race as he neared completion and it was as if she was falling into him. All those places inside where she was cold; a little broken up… he flooded into them. He brought her back to life.

She woke up with the Florida sunshine spilling in through the window. They had forgotten to close the curtains last night, she realised lazily. The mattress felt odd beneath her: harder than she was used to and lumpy in odd places. Raising her head inquisitively she discovered that was because she had fallen asleep on top of Jon. Her movement must have disturbed him because his eyes fluttered open a couple of times before settling on half-mast. He shifted beneath her and groaned.

"How can such a little thing like you gain thirty pounds while you sleep?"

Her jaw dropped in outrage.

"Hey!"

She squeaked. His mouth curved up at the corners ever so slightly as he stretched and then winced theatrically. "I think you pulverised one of my kidneys."

"Just as well that you have two then, isn't it you bastard?"

She retorted, pummelling him. Laughing helplessly and fending her off he yelped when she smacked him with a pillow.

"Oh really now? You wanna go there? It is _on_!"

And he tried to wrestle the pillow from her grasp. Struggling, tumbling over on the mattress in a tangle of limbs and feather-stuffed pillow they ended up in a panting, giggling heap. Plucking a feather from his curls delicately they settled down with their arms wrapped loosely around each other.

"So what did you wanna tell me?"

He asked sleepily, his hand running up and down her spine. Melissa felt herself going slightly cross-eyed with bliss. Tangling her legs through his she considered her words before beginning to speak.

"Remember when we were talking to Seth and Joe before I left? Seth said something about Bo Dallas being the champion was an injustice. It got me thinking. Just the way the WWE is booked, there are unpopular decisions. You can't please everyone all the times, right? And there are the veterans to consider, and their egos."

"OK?"

Jon was looking at her quizzically, but listening.

"What if there was… a unit? Too new to be part of the system yet. They look around and see what's wrong with the business and they decide to change it. Rather than "paying their dues" and waiting to become carbon copies of everything that's wrong with the business they decide to take what they want. Genuinely new, genuinely different: no one knows exactly when they're going to show up but when they do… can you imagine the pop from the crowd?"

Jon's breathing had picked up slightly, his gaze going beyond her as he thought about it and she saw his forehead furrowing. Picking up on unconscious signals they both sat up, facing each other on the bed.

"A… unit?"

He asked uncertainly and she saw him thinking about the whole evolution of the Jon Moxley character and now Dean Ambrose. He had always been alone.

"Strength in numbers."

She replied. "A group of like-minded bad-asses will always be scarier than the individual, however bad that individual is. _Think about it_! The early days of the NWO when they were something totally new and shocking. The domination and skill of the Four Horsemen, but _young_! Young and hungry: not ready to play by anyone's rules."

Something flared in his eyes like a sun going supernova.

"Busting my ass in the indies for the past five years and waiting for the WWE's benevolence to call me up to the big time where I might still get stuck with a truly lousy gimmick that's going to land me right back into the indies because the fans think it's a fucking joke. Or I sell out everything that made me great in the first place and become some cookie cutter clone that's identical to about ten people who came before me."

He began to smile. "Not playing the game, changing the fucking rules, becoming something totally new."

He looked at Melissa with dawning respect. "Fuck me."

He breathed. "If you aren't so damn good it scares me."

Melissa felt her system flush through with so much adrenaline that every nerve ending was left tingling.

"They put me on six month probation to prove myself like I'm going to be grateful to become one of those clichéd, clueless gorillas. We can blow the doors off this place! Me and you, together."

Jon simply stared at her for a moment and then dragged her up against him; kissing her so passionately that she was left breathless and reeling.

"I'm in."

**_"They'll name a city after us;_**

**_You know it's true._**

**_Baby I'm immortal when I'm with you." _**


	13. The Ignition

"I hate running!"

Melissa felt a smile break across her face as she heard the familiar voice. "I can do hours of weights but I really fucking hate running. Especially running at six am! Who does that? Who drags a man out of bed and makes him run at six am?"

"The guy you're paying good money to torture you."

A deep bass rumble responded with amusement and the first man snorted: peeved.

"Hey."

Jon greeted casually as he sauntered into the gym. Already warming up in baggy black shorts and a grey vest Joe grunted something similar, glancing up in a cursory fashion to look at his friend. He did a double take and broke into a broad, dazzling smile.

"Hey! Look who it is!

Already churning away on the treadmill Seth stopped so abruptly that he almost shot off the end.

"Melli!"

He cooed, drawing the end of her name out into a high-pitched wail as his face almost splattered against the mirror. Blushing rose pink Melissa found herself folded into a close hug against a massive, rather bare chest. Jesus, it really was like getting snuggly with a bald grizzly bear. Joe grinned down at her.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?"

"You came back!"

Seth declared rapturously, draping himself against her back. The heat of his body burned against her back and as she breathed in she dragged the scent of him with her: the tang of fresh sweat, and a fresh, lemony soap.

"You sound more enthusiastic than Jon did."

Melissa replied dryly and Jon, leaning back against the wall and watching all this with amusement, grinned.

"Too much enthusiasm makes my voice go all high and squeaky."

He drawled, winking at her. "But I was jiving inside, babe."

Still caught up in a Joe and Seth sandwich Melissa gently eased out from between them. The feel of Seth's hands resting on her hips from behind was uncomfortably intimate and so much bare skin on Joe was frankly unnerving.

"You need to keep an eye on how the tournament is going, I guess?"

Joe asked, sitting back down on the bench again and watching her with piercing, curious grey blue eyes. Melissa broke into a grin and glanced at Jon. He lifted his eyebrows at her but stayed relaxed and silent against the wall; leaving the announcement to her.

"About that…"

Melissa said slowly, looking between Joe and Seth with a growing smile. "How would you guys like to go to the WWE with Jon?"

* * *

Seth was rattling out words like a machine gun: jumping from angles to promos to image and his brown eyes glittering with adrenaline as the idea of what he was being asked to do started to coalesce in his mind. He got it immediately: the massive potential of what they might be working with here and it was enough to have him juddering with excitement like a kid hopped up on way too much sugar. Joe however was very, very quiet. Melissa sat down next to him and counted on the conversation between Seth and Jon to cover up this one.

"Problem?"

She asked gently. The big man gave her a faint smile.

"You know what it is that you've just offered me?"

He replied, equally soft. "A once in a lifetime shot. If this works… if the office goes for it… this is _huge_."

"So why do I get the feeling that you're about to turn me down flat?"

She asked with wry humour. He grimaced.

"You like me, I get it: we've really connected but I've been in FCW for a year and unlike Jon and Seth I wasn't in the indies for years before that. This might to be too big for me."

Melissa's warm blue eyes turned to the colour of deep Arctic ice in a heartbeat: killingly cold.

"Did you mean to insult me with that?"

She asked, her voice absolutely, tonelessly calm. Joe blinked, his eyes widening.

"Oh… hey."

He said, half laughing and reaching out to her. "Melli…"

"Don't you fucking Melli me, Joe. I have everything riding on this and if it fails, so does my career. And the thought actually entered your arrogant, smug head that I'm handing out a chance like this like a fucking _sweetie_? This is not something you hand out as a favour, you imbecile!"

The scathing incredulity in her voice made Joe wince and stopped the conversation between Seth and Jon dead. Jon hid a smile with his hand.

"Insecurity isn't an option, huh?"

"It bloody isn't!"

She retorted, still seething. "Don't you get it? The sheer arrogance of what we're about to do leaves room for only one method. You guys have got to go… how do you say it? Balls to the wall?"

Jon gave a short bark of laughter.

"We go balls to the wall or we go home. Man up, Anoa'i, or aren't they big enough?"

Joe looked back and forth between them and suddenly relaxed, shaking his head ruefully.

"The two of you are fucking horrendous together."

Calming slightly, feeling slightly nauseous from the abrupt explosion of adrenaline and rage Melissa edged closer to Jon. Wrapping his arms around her from behind he drew her back against his chest.

"Physically, I've seen you go. You're good enough."

She found herself pressing back against her lover and from a gentle embrace Jon tightened his arms; one around her waist and the other across her collar bones. It was unashamedly possessive and domineering but it also made her feel safe. He rubbed his cheek against her hair and almost purred: a honey sound that liquefied her inside. She turned her face in against his throat briefly and then glanced up at him. For one brief, unguarded moment her gaze was swimming with so much emotion and adoration that his breath caught, ducking his head to brush his lips against hers with a nonsensical, murmured endearment. "And you'll continue to improve. Your mic skills are… a work in progress."

She said tactfully and Joe lifted an eyebrow at her with a rueful grimace. "But if we leave the bulk of the mic work to Seth and especially Dean then we'll be golden. He can go all night."

The words came out a split second before she realised how they might sound. Jon doubled up behind her with a shout of laughter and Seth almost had tears in his eyes.

"Oh baby, you're too kind."

Jon cackled. Blushing tomato red, cringing inside Melissa tried as hard as she could to ignore them. Grinning, Joe's eyes fixed on her face and stayed there, like he was trying to read her mind. Melissa looked steadily back at him until he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"I _will_ work hard."

He promised her. She inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement, not needing to point out that he had bloody _better_ work hard or she would personally kick his ass from Tampa to Stamford and back again. Suddenly he nodded sharply. "I'd have to be a damned fool. I'm in."

Seth let out a howl of glee and punched the air: almost jumping on Joe in his excitement. Jon laughed softly.

"Your motivational skills are probably the scariest I've ever seen but damned if you aren't hotter than hell when you're mad enough to rip a man's spleen up through his nose."

Melissa elbowed him in his ribcage but found herself smiling. It was all coming together.

* * *

**_Stamford, Connecticut_**

The two women were dressed rather similarly. The taller of the two was immaculate in a black trouser suit with an ice blue shirt; her long brown hair falling down her back. The smaller blond was dressed in charcoal grey trousers that were considerably better fitting than what she might have worn a month ago with a short sleeved, blood red sweater. Both of them were dwarfed by the five men squeezed into the office with them. Stephanie McMahon tapped her fingernails absently on the file that contained all the information she needed about Melissa's brainchild.

"This is… extraordinary."

She said eventually. Her blue eyes met Melissa's and they were glittering with some secret amusement and satisfaction. "You're given a six month probation and rather than whining and complaining you come up with an idea like this. The big talent is guarded by the old boys like a juice bone watched over by some big dogs and again, rather than complain you go down to FCW and work with our up and coming talent. You have a ton of pressure from the naysayers hanging over your head and rather than crumpling you work your ass off. I like that."

"Sounds familiar?"

Her husband and now behind-the-scenes powerhouse Triple H smiled at her wryly. His cinder toffee hair had been cut short these days and he was more likely to be found in a suit than a tiny pair of black rubberized trunks but Melissa knew that she could count on _his_ support. If anyone knew what it was like to claw and fight your way up the ladder from the bottom and put everything of yourself into this business to create a legacy that would always be remembered then it was Paul Levesque. Vince McMahon gave a hearty guffaw.

"Successful women in wrestling have to be a true force to be reckoned with. I wanted to see what you had when I put you under that six month probation, Melissa. Seems to me what you've got are balls as big as grapefruits!"

Behind her Jon gave a muffled snort. Smiling angelically Melissa kicked back and connected satisfyingly with his ankle bone.

"Shall we run with it?"

She asked calmly. Vince nodded, suddenly brisk.

"Go ahead. Write up the schedule and the angle. We want them in place by the end of the year."

Giving her a friendly, amiable nod he looked about to swagger out of his daughter's office when Melissa took a deep breath and spoke up.

"There is… there is one last thing, sir."

The three family members looked back at her curiously. Melissa felt Jon's presence behind her: a silent comfort and support. It gave her the strength that she needed. "This is my idea. My angle. For as long as it's running they are _my_ boys."

Triple H gave a bark of laughter.

"Worried that one of the big dogs is about to come barging in and steal your bone?"

"Morality, ethics… call it what you like but it's in short demand in the creative department."

Stephanie burst out laughing. The two women looked at each other with complete understanding and growing warmth.

"They're your boys."

The Billion Dollar Princess agreed and behind her Jon huffed out a breath, propping his arm on her shoulder and shuffling to make room as Joe and Seth all crowded in too.

"Then let's do this!"

* * *

Catching hold of a double handful of shirt Melissa pressed herself up against Jon.

"Oh my God!"

She whispered, trembling all over. "Oh my god, this is actually happening!"

He laughed softly, dragging her in against him more tightly and claiming her lips with a kiss that was absolutely carnal in its heat and hunger. His big hands slipped through her hair, cradling her skull and absolutely controlling her as he ravaged her mouth; his tongue plundering like everything in her belonged to him.

"You don't know what you do to me."

He hissed into her ear when he finally broke for air: biting down on her lobe. Melissa spasmed, hooking one of her legs around the backs of his. "To see you in there so tough, so smart, so fucking _powerful._ That last five minutes all I could think of was having you stretched out below me: begging and screaming and dripping, you need me so bad."

His words pierced her to the core: sending a wave of scalding heat out through her body as if just by intention he could put her in exactly that condition. And she could feel that he meant it; the way he was instinctively grinding up against her for friction and so hard for her, so ready… Shuddering with arousal Melissa arched up against him, clawing at his shoulders.

"Show me what you want to do to me."

She begged. "Jon, please!"

His pupils blew: hungry black swallowing those pure, summer sky depths until he was nothing but a powerful alpha male utterly controlled by his hunger. Melissa heard a needy, mewling cry and realised with shock that she was the one making it.

"Down on your knees."

He rasped. "Show me what this powerful boss lady will do for me."

Melissa barely hesitated. Dropping to her knees in front of him her shaking hands tugged at his belt and zipper. He was so turned on that a damp path of pre-come was already staining his grey boxers and when she eased them away from his rigid cock he was flushed dark and ready. Not a guy that needed a lot of foreplay, Melissa thought dazedly before drawing her tongue over him from root to tip. Jon snarled, fingers knotting through her long hair. "Suck me."

This time the tremor of arousal was more like an earthquake deep inside her. Panting for breath she took him into her mouth and began to suck: her cheeks hollowing. He began to shift his hips; the two of them working together as he fucked her mouth until her lips were red and swollen. Melissa realised that even in his state of arousal he was being careful with her: just too big to really let go but just the illusion of the aggressive master taking what he wanted from his submissive women had her so turned on that her skin was prickling all over like electricity was being run over her skin. Cradling his balls and working the bit of his shaft that her mouth could not cover she felt him teetering on the very edge of control.

_"Fuuuuuuuuck."_

He hissed through gritted teeth and in one fluid movement grasped her beneath her armpits and swung her up onto her feet. Tugging ruthlessly at her expensive trousers he dragged them down her thighs along with her panties and pressed her forward over her desk. A cascade of files and paperwork went crashing onto the floor and Melissa spared a moment to be truly grateful that the other writers with cubicles nearby were either out for lunch or busy elsewhere. Kicking her legs further apart he grasped her hips and slowly slid himself back and forth between her folds. She was so wet, so ready for him that the friction made her eyes roll back in her head and Jon swore softly.

"Fuck knows what I did in this life that was so good someone thought I deserved a girl like you."

"You deserve me!"

Melissa gasped, her nails digging into the wood of her desk convulsively. "No one will deny that you don't totally deserve me. Now hurry up and fuck me, Jon: I'm going to die!"

His laughter was pure sin.

"Oh baby, you were made with me in mind."

He purred and lining himself up he slid inside her in one long, smooth thrust. Melissa keened, bucking back against him as the familiar, blissful sensation of being completely filled by him stole over her. His hand slid between her legs, circling her clit with wicked fingers.

"Scream for me."

He hissed. He was hard as a rock, losing his rhythm as he plundered her wet heat and the feel of him rutting her up against the desk; the combined scent of them filling her senses was just too much. Her arousal was like a coiled spring; drawing tighter and tighter until it suddenly released. Blazing through her core, down her legs and making her brain shut down she felt the spill of his seed inside her and collapsed face down against her desk. Sweet Christ, there was never going to be anybody, _anybody_ else like him.


	14. The Survivors

"Miss Moran."

The dark haired stunner gave her such a smouldering smile that Melissa was faintly surprised that her clothes didn't burst into flames. "It's good to have you back with us. I have so missed the sight of your pretty face and your short little skirts."

Slightly behind her there came the pissed off growl of a very jealous alpha male boyfriend. Melissa ignored him, smiling slightly.

"Thank you, Mr Kruger. I've caught up with some of your matches. You are doing so _well_ in FCW. Which is really very convenient considering how long I think you'll be down here. Enjoy Florida."

As Leo Kruger's smirk turned into a deadly glower she sashayed past him, swinging her hips just a little bit extra to give him a view of the skirt he apparently admired so much.

* * *

Chuckling evilly Jon caught hold of her from behind and lightly bit down on the nape of her neck. Shuddering with pleasure Melissa was helpless but to push back against him.

"Taunting bad guys when you wouldn't have even looked at them funny."

He purred into her ear, big hands skimming up over her shirt to brush against her breasts. "Swinging your hips like that. You're coming to life, baby."

She twisted around in his arms. Dry and untreated his curls were more pronounced than ever: tumbling forward into his eyes. The eyes themselves were warm and languid: mildly horny. He would not be adverse to fooling around a little if she wanted and the memory of last night, flying back down to Tampa when he'd followed her into the bathroom, dropped down onto his knees, hooked one of her knees over his shoulder and proceeded to reduce her to such a gasping, moaning wreck that they were nearly arrested for the third damn time in as many weeks made her _really_ want to. Standing on tiptoe she twined her arms around his neck and plunged her hands into that silken mass of hair.

"It's you."

She said simply, her thumbs tracing circles onto the bare, ultra-sensitive skin behind his ears and making him shiver pleasurably. "You make me braver, more confident. You bring me to life."

It was really quite amusing the see the ultra-confident, cocky Dean Ambrose blush. There was a definite pink flush beneath his tan. He pressed his lips softly against hers and then took a breath.

"You're the smart one."

He said falteringly. "I've never been good at this stuff; barely finished high school but even if I can't say it right, you know…"

Taking one of her hands he placed it over his heart. She could feel it beating. Wild emotion surged through her: so deep that she knew there wasn't a single cell that wasn't completely in love with this man.

"Jon."

She breathed. "Jon, I l…"

* * *

"Guys!"

They both jumped, glaring at Seth with deep displeasure. He ignored them, bouncing over and grabbing Jon's wrist. Still having hold of Melissa they were both dragged down the corridor in a very grumpy crocodile. "Still canoodling even after last night? _Again_? You're like the polar opposite of tantric, dude. You must be running on empty by now. Nothing in those nuts but fresh air."

"Some guys can go more than once a week."

Jon growled. Seth tossed a haughty look back over his shoulder.

"It's quality, not quantity!"

"Tell that to your girlfriend when she has to buy batteries in bulk."

Jon taunted and Melissa rolled her eyes to heaven.

"Good grief."

She muttered, walking ahead of them and into the office. Joe was already in there, gazing out of the window and she brightened. He was the grown up. She would never find Joe talking about the state of his stable-mate's nut sack.

"Roman Reigns."

He suddenly exclaimed and she jumped. He frowned and made his bass voice even deeper, if possible: a sort of sub-sonic rumble. "Roman. Reigns."

This apparently satisfied him because he nodded happily. The decision to change his name from the Blessed One, Leakee had not been easy but thankfully he seemed happy enough with his re-christening.

"Believe in the _Shield! _Believe _in_ the Shield. _Believe_ in the Shield!"

"Christ almighty they're all bloody weird!"

She muttered and dropped into the chair beside Steve. He grinned.

"But now they're _your_ weirdoes. Sign on the dotted line, kiddo. After this signature they're officially released to the big, bad world of WWE."

Melissa produced a pen and signed with a flourish.

"If you've finished defending the potency of your sperm, perhaps you'd like to sign your release papers."

She drawled acidly at her lover. Caught up in a headlock but countering with the unorthodox but deadly effective Atomic Wedgie while his new stable mate wailed like an air-raid siren Jon released his death grip on Seth's underwear and blinked innocently.

"I was just waiting for you, lover."

He straightened up and Seth gingerly began prising his boxers out of places where no material should ever touch. Melissa looked on watchfully as her boyfriend and Seth signed the release papers.

"Joe?"

_"Believe…!"_

"They won't be able to believe in the bloody Shield if you don't sign the bloody papers and we never get to the bloody bollocking Survivor Series!"

She erupted. "Sign!"

Steve stretched out in his chair and gave a massive, satisfied sigh.

"Enjoy."

He purred evilly and grinned when she flipped him the middle finger. "I remember you being much nicer."

"He's a very bad influence."

She replied truthfully.

* * *

**_Indianapolis, Indiana_**

The Bankers Life Fieldhouse in Indianapolis held eighteen thousand people. Dressed in jeans and a WWE hoodie Melissa stood in the ring and gazed blankly around the massive, still empty space. The ring had been set up yesterday with hours to spare as the lights were rigged, the pyro was set up and everything else that made up the enormity of a WWE pay-per-view. It was so _big_. Not that she hadn't seen it before: as part of the job occasionally one of the creative team had to venture out to Raw or Smackdown. But this was the first time that she'd had such a personal investment in an angle. Movement caught her eye and glancing up to the stairs she smiled. Dressed in jeans a T-shirts the three men trotted down the stairs.

"Melli, how do we look?"

Seth called out to her anxiously.

"Kind of skippy."

She replied, leaning against the ropes and watching them with interest. "Very _My Little Pony_."

"Oh fuck you and all the ponies, man: that is not what we were aiming for!"

Seth wailed and they turned sharply; galloping back up the stairs again. Melissa smiled to herself and wondered how many times she'd be able to get away with it before they figured out that they looked just fine.

* * *

"Hey, Ambrose."

They both turned automatically and found the current World Heavyweight Champion of WWE right behind them. "You finally made it, huh? Congrats, man! This is one hell of a way to announce your arrival!"

The two men shook hands. Melissa remembered that they'd had an awesome match down in FCW when C.M. Punk had gone down to Tampa for an appearance and although Jon was not the type to have a fan boy nerd-gasm over any of the guys in WWE she knew that he had a lot of admiration for the guy. Jon rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Melli."

He said simply. "I think she sold her soul to get an idea this hot."

For the first time Melissa found herself under the piercing hazel eyed gaze of her company's world champion. She had never had the faintest chance of getting close to him: he was trussed up creatively like a Christmas turkey but not for the first time her mouth watered at the thought of what you could get done with a guy like this. He offered his hand and she shook it; appreciating the firm, calloused grip.

"Melli, huh?"

He asked thoughtfully. "I'm Phil."

Melissa did not have to be told to appreciate the honour. His lips – finely shaped, cruelly sensual – curved. "Maybe you'll think of something just as good for me sometime."

"I only had one soul."

She replied and he laughed. Turning back to Jon he flashed him a warm, wicked grin.

"Blow the doors off this place."

He drawled, and clapping his shoulder he sauntered off down the corridor. Looking up at Jon she saw his eyes flicker with lightning: his system flushing through with adrenaline. They had the support of the WWE Champion. Well by golly they really had hit the big time.

* * *

The main even of the Survivor Series 2012 was a triple threat for the World Heavyweight title between C. M Punk, John Cena and Ryback. It had been twenty five minutes of brutal and exciting action when John Cena was left in a heap outside the ring and the massive Ryback delivered his punishing finisher Shellshock to Punk. The champion was out cold and Ryback was quick to cover him. A new champion…! But no; Cena hurled himself into the ring from outside and broke the count. For his troubles he was hoisted up onto the behemoth's massive shoulders as Ryback marched around the ring and plummeted backwards. Another Shellshock! Ryback hooked the former champion's leg. Surely this was the end! A new champion! Suddenly the fans stirred, making even more noise as from down the stairs and out of their midst came three men dressed all in black. Flowing over the barriers with enviable athleticism they rolled into the ring and fell on Ryback like the wrath of the titans. It was three on one: a pack of savage dogs delivering a series of punishing kicks and punches to the fallen man while Cena lay motionless nearby. Dressed in black cargo pants with security-style utility belts around their waists; plain black turtle necks rolled up to their elbows. They kicked Ryback out of the ring like so much trash and followed him to the outside. A division of labour then took place: the short-haired blond and the two-toned Latino continuing the brutal beat down while the third and biggest of the three – liquid jet hair pulled back in a ponytail that rippled down his back – pulled the top off the commentary desk and began to disconnect the monitors. The commentary team were having conniptions.

"Wait, wait, wait: the man clearing things out… He was a foot away from me. That's Roman Reigns. Roman Reigns from FCW! What is he doing here? That's Dean Ambrose! Dean Ambrose has Ryback. Seth Rollins… all from FCW! What the hell are they doing out here?"

What they were doing was beating the holy crap out of the man currently being promoted as the unstoppable monster. Dragging him up to his feet Ambrose and Rollins physically muscled him up into the air, placing his legs over the massive Samoan's shoulders. Taking some of the weight for their friend they hoisted him high, high… and then inevitably what goes up must come down. _Smash_! Oh hear the happy sound of 300 pounds of wrestler utterly pulverising the commentary desk as his body blasted through it. For a moment they stood, surveying the destruction and a small, satisfied smirk curved the lips of the blond.

"Believe."

The camera picked up his words quite clearly before he extended his fist. The two other men touched their fists to his: centred like spokes of a wheel. And then with a jerk of his head the blond leapt lithely back over the barrier, closely followed by the other two as they left Ryback amidst the ruins of the table, Cena still motionless in the middle of the ring and C.M Punk just beginning to crawl painfully towards him. The whole arena was in uproar. The Shield had arrived.

* * *

Legs and arms wrapped tight around Jon Melissa hugged him for all she was worth and felt her ribs groaning against the pressure in turn. The head boiled off him in waves; his blonde curls in a wet, mad tangle and Melissa gave a sobbing gasp of laughter as she realised how truly extraordinary this man really was.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

She whispered into his ear before kissing him like they had only seconds left to live. "Jesus, Jon, you were _born_ for this."

"That makes two of us then."

He rasped. "And together there isn't going to be a single thing that can stop us."


	15. The Creative Solution

Melissa rubbed her tired, gritty eyes but smiled as gulped the last of the coffee. It had long since gone cold and the milk floated on the surface in a greasy film but it tasted pretty good anyway. These days everything tasted like success. Glancing at the wall of her study she smirked slightly at the framed copy of her new WWE contract. It was set for five years, which was not exactly permanent but was as permanent as anything got in this company. Leaning back in the bulky, leather desk chair she spun idly around and around. It was 1am. She really should take a quick shower and go to bed as she hadn't seen her comfortable mattress at any time before 2am this whole week. Fortnight? _Month_? But strangely she was not tired. These days she was doing without a whole lot of sleep but flying on caffeine, adrenaline and pure euphoria. The Shield was making it. Damn it, they were more than making it; her boys were slamming it out of the ball park each and every night! The Shield was _killing_ it. And as though he was summoned by the sheer size of the shit-eating grin on her face her phone buzzed with the special ringtone she had programmed in for him.

"Sierra, Hotel, India, Echo, Lima, Delta, _Shield_…"

"I might have been asleep."

She answered with mild reproof, yet the emotion in her voice making it more of a caress.

"Who sleeps, these days?"

Jon replied wryly and she laughed; not at all surprised that they had both clearly been thinking about the same things.

"How's Phoenix?"

"You're in Stamford."

"That doesn't answer the question!"

"Sure it does."

He drawled and she blushed, grinning foolishly at the wall.

"Well I've just finished the scripts that will take us up to the New Year. You're flying up to New York on Saturday for TLC. We'll be able to spend some time together without work intruding. Christmas in Tampa!"

"About that. I've got a surprise for you."

He murmured silkily. "How does Christmas week in Manhattan sound? A hotel suite. Room service so we don't have to eat either of our cooking for Christmas dinner and spend Christmas night huddled over the fuckin' can…"

"It's not that bad!"

She protested weakly, without much conviction. He snorted and she gave in, laughing. "That sounds amazing."

"I miss you."

He purred and that dark, velvet tone of voice ran through her like fire. She shivered with arousal, her fingers trailing from her throat down between her breasts.

"Me too."

She said shakily. Getting to her feet she clicked off the harsh main light and switched on the Tiffany lamp. Settling down again in the chair she leant back and kicked her legs up to rest on a pile of books on the occasional table.

"How do you miss me?"

Jon also sounded like he was getting more comfortable. She could picture him stretching out on some anonymous hotel bed. Maybe he had just showered, yes, and some beads of water had escaped the cursory rub down he had given himself. She could imagine one rolling down his chest, beside his dusky nipple and a shudder of response ran through her body.

"It's been so long, Jon."

She said softly, feeling herself blush a little. She could not entirely shift the fear that as she tried to be sexy he would flat out laugh his ass off. "I think of you and… and… my nipples get hard."

If he was laughing at her then he was a damned good actor. She could actually hear his breathing hitch.

"Yeah?"

He asked. "You miss my hands on you, baby? You're thinking of me drawing those tight, aching little nipples into my mouth?"

Melissa bit her lip, feeling the heat travel from her face down through her body and not all of it was due to embarrassment. Her hands skimmed over her breasts; bare behind the flowered pyjamas she was wearing.

"Yes."

She breathed. "Yes, I want that. You have such big hands, Jon. They feel so good against me."

He gave a low sound, like a growl and in response the heat began to pool in her groin: a spill of wet heat that made her ache. "I think of you touching me all the time when you're not here. Sometimes I realise that I'm thinking of you and my hands are following the motions."

"You touch yourself when you think of me, baby?"

He growled. "You're touching yourself right now, just listening to my voice?"

"You know I am."

Her voice cracked. He purred: honey drenched gravel.

"Oh yeah. I like that. Slip your hand down lower, baby: let me feel how wet you are."

Melissa slowly slid her hand down over her stomach. She teased herself; fingers toying with the lace-trimmed waistband of her low-slung pyjama bottoms.

"I'm wearing my 'jamas."

She was growing in confidence now, teasing him just a little.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He promised and oh God, his _voice_…! She could imagine it clearly. He'd be wearing his boxers as usual and they'd be tended at the crotch by now; the thin material clinging to his long, thick cock. He would be touching himself already, she knew. Just idly palming himself. He had too much control to do more than that right away; he'd want this to _last_. A moan trickled out from between her lips.

"God Jon, please…"

"Take 'em off, baby. Nice and slow."

He commanded silkily. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband Melissa slowly tugged them down over her hips. Lifting her bottom off the chair she wriggled out of the soft cotton bottoms and kicked them aside.

"I'm bare from the waist down, sitting in my office chair."

She told him tremulously and he groaned.

"Fuck, I can picture that: the top half so respectable, so haughty while the bottom half is just _dripping_ for me. Hook your legs over the arms. Open yourself up to me."

Shaking, Melissa did as she was told. Despite the fact that she was alone in her study, the simple act of doing something so lewd, doing what he told her had her eyes glittering feverishly with arousal. "Touch yourself, baby. Let me hear how good it feels."

Biting her lip, Melissa trailed her fingers down through her neatly trimmed blonde curls then lightly onwards; just skimming over her folds. Light as it was the moment her fingertips brushed against her swollen, throbbing clit she let out an audible gasp. Jon swore softly. "Fuck yeah. Come on, baby, get those fingers nice and slick. I know how you like it. You like it _deep_…"

Melissa's breathing was coming fast and ragged with arousal and no power on earth would have stopped her from following those commands. Still circling her throbbing clit she plunged two fingers inside; a fluttering touch against her inner walls. She had never explored like this before Jon. Not to say that she had never masturbated but those embarrassed fumbling's bore little or no relation to what Jon had talked her through, _"When I'm not there to do it for you."_ He'd murmured: watching her with scalding, slightly amused eyes as she'd fallen to pieces in front of him. "_Such a little exhibitionist. You do love to be watched_." She found that place again, deep inside, fingers drumming in a way that had her eyes rolling back.

"Talk to me!"

She gasped, because she was so close now… it felt so good, but she needed his voice to push her over the edge. Jon's voice was thick with lust.

"Fuck, I can picture you when you do that. You look so fucking sexy when you do that! You wouldn't believe how much I want you, Melli. I'm dripping all over my fingers, I need you so bad."

She could imagine it; on the bed with his hips jerking upwards, driving his rock hard length up into his tight grip: fucking his fist as he imagined it was her. It would be warm and slick with some hastily grabbed lotion but he would look so good, he was so sexy…

"Jon!"

She gasped, feeling the first tremors beginning in the pit of her stomach. There was a strange sound from his end, a sort of muffled thud… by the time she identified it as a door swinging closed it was way too late.

"Hey man, we brought you back some… for fuck's sake…!"

"Jon, I'm coming…!"

"Aw… fuck…!"

And as she heard her boyfriend spill his load in front of his utterly mortified friends, realising that those same friends were listening to her loud and clear on the fucking _speaker phone_, Melissa was plunged off the cliff. Her orgasm crashed into her with such devastating intensity that she was helpless: wave after wave crashing over her. Jon… Joe… Seth… Watching her like this… She had brain cells that died, it was so good.

* * *

Shaking with the aftermath and limp as a wet rag Melissa heard Jon's ragged breathing down the phone, and then, meekly,

"Hey Melli."

Seth said shakily. Covering her face with her hands Melissa cringed so badly she almost got whiplash.

"Hi guys."

She replied with as much cool dignity as she could muster. Nearest to the phone she heard Jon's laughter embarrassingly clear.

"Next time…"

He drawled, astonishingly unperturbed. "Fucking _knock_. We ain't a peep show."

* * *

**Just a short chapter. I wondered what Jon and Melissa would do when their different schedules took them to different parts of the country and this is what I came up with ;) Normal service will resume in the next chapter, I promise lol**


	16. The Manipulation

**I have the feeling that I'll need to apologise for this chapter afterwards lol: I know that DJ isn't everyone's favourite guy in this story. The second part is dedicated to angelsdee327 as it was entirely due to a convo with her that I figured that Dean Ambrose has quite a major fetish for Roman's hair. Enjoy ;)**

* * *

Whatever should a girl pack in a single small suitcase that would do for a three completely different climates and simultaneously do for both business and seducing the boyfriend that you hadn't seen in over a week? Well the last one was easy enough, Melissa thought with a smile: nudity took up no space at all in the suitcase. Holding up her brand new packet of stockings she was dithering whether to include them or whether Jon had been teasing about his fascination with them when her phone buzzed.

"Hello?"

"Melli."

An infinitely familiar voice rasped.

"DJ!"

She exclaimed, sitting down on the bed with a thump. "How are you? I was going to call you but…"

The guilt set in: thick, sticky and deeply unpleasant. DJ laughed softly.

"Like it wasn't enough that you've been mothering me by email every day? I'm _fine_, honest. Better than fine, maybe: the new scar makes me look really manly."

Melissa relaxed, laughing. Since that spectacularly unpleasant conversation with Jon about her ex, they hadn't brought it up again. Knowing that her loyalty was owed to Jon now, and not her ex she had resisted checking on him too much but the man _had_ just almost had his throat ripped out. Disloyalty was one thing but utter disinterest in such a serious injury was totally  
another!

"Like being 6'0" plus and almost 300 pounds wasn't manly enough?"

She teased. DJ rumbled a laugh.

"No manly is ever manly enough. You know I aim for the guys in the locker room to roll onto their backs and wave their legs in the air in submission when I walk into the room."

Melissa grinned, curling up against her pillows.

"This might just do it. Almost having your head ripped off with barbed wire tends to impress even the hardcore crowd. So what's happening?"

"I'm back at work."

"What the…? DJ!"

"I was climbing the walls I was so damn bored!"

He defended himself.

"So watch TV! Catch up on your reading! Go for walk and healthful walks DJ, but it is way too soon for you to be back in CZW!"

"And I would've done all those things if you were still in Philly, Melli. But you're not and maybe I'm not so fucking manly after all. I need CZW for distraction."

Her breath caught in her throat; a volatile cocktail of pain, guilt, resentment, sympathy and affection churning uneasily in her stomach. She could not have replied to him in that moment had her life depended upon it. "I'm just running the place."

He sounded guilty suddenly. "Not wrestling. I won't get hurt."

Melissa swiped at her leaking eyes: hating him and hating herself in equal measures.

"You'll do what you want to do."

She said dully. "And that's the way it _should_ be."

"Should be?"

DJ snapped, suddenly angry. "It should be that I'm prodding you like a fucking teenager sticking gum into your hair just so you'll blow up and I'll know you haven't stopped caring entirely? It should be I'm holding onto the company as tight as I can because it's all that's left of you but the storylines fucking _suck_ because you're not here anymore? Is that how it should be? Because I am hating every goddamn fucking second of this, Melli!"

Melissa was struck speechless. He hadn't said much at the time. He hadn't even really argued when she'd told him they should break up. Only maybe he should have because his feelings had obviously been pent up like pressure inside a volcano and suddenly she'd just had the inevitable eruption spew lava and fireballs all over her. Putting her head in her hands she just focused on breathing for several moments; hearing his rasping, abused breathing down the phone in turn. They both spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry!"

"Shit, Melli, I didn't mean that…"

They both stopped, half laughing.

"I'm sorry."

He said, very quietly. Melissa scrubbed at her wet eyes and concentrated fiercely on the only thing she could maybe do something about.

"The storylines…?"

"Have you seen CZW lately?"

"Since your accident I haven't really wanted to."

She muttered.

"I blow."

He said bluntly. "I've made some major fucking booking mistakes and the rock solid certainty I had with Masada, I have seriously screwed up."

Masada? Her heavyweight champion? Two years undefeated, a man of awe and terror because she had made him bloody _untouchable_: Masada?

"He's your heavyweight champion, DJ."

Melissa said dangerously, her blue eyes beginning to glitter in a way that Jon would have recognised all too well. "I would have hoped you had the sense to realise that if the one thing you didn't meddle with, it was Masada."

"Yeah… he might not look quite as impressive these days."

DJ replied blithely. If Melissa had thought it through she might possibly have realised that the man who had known you intimately for three years and worked alongside you for all of that time as well would more than likely know all too well what buttons to press. But the buttons well and truly pressed; burning up with outrage and indignation that her CZW legacy was about to go up in flames Melissa did not pause to think.

"Alright. Talk me through what you've done. _Exactly_ what you've done."

"I can do better than that!"

DJ replied with the faintest, oh the very faintest note of triumph. "I'll send you the PPVs and you can see for yourself."

"You will stay on this phone, David Jason Markland."

Melissa warned him icily. "As I watch them. And tell you exactly what you've bloody done!"

"Jesus…"

DJ gave a martyred sigh. "Fine. _Fine_! But after you've ripped my balls off and turned them into castanets will you fucking _help_ me, please?"

"Well of course I'll bloody help you."

She said irritably, walking over to switch on the computer. "Now send me the links."

And the two of them settled down in two different cities, hundreds of miles apart to watch the recent PPVs of the company they both loved together; phones cradled to their ears.

* * *

Melissa smiled politely at the receptionist at the Hyatt Manhattan and wheeled her small suitcase over to the elevator. Jon would already be checked in, she knew. The guys and most of the rest of the roster had arrived from Phoenix yesterday. She had come up a little later; having to get the scripts Okayed first. But right now she was carrying some pretty dynamite material around with her and the guys were going to be so excited! In fact _she_ was too excited to leave it any longer. Not bothering to text Jon that she had arrived she used the information from the company to see what room the Shield should be checked into and made her way right there. Knocking on the door she realised that she was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. How long had it been since they had seen each other? _Days_… It was just impossible to attend each and every event with them while she did this job. And it felt like it too: the ache inside her whenever he wasn't there as sharp and painful as a missing limb.

* * *

The door opened and she found herself staring at a half-naked Seth Rollins. They had taken the opportunity to sleep in, she realised and maybe he had been sleeping closest to the door or more likely the other two had just flat out refused to move and Seth's insatiable curiosity had made it impossible not to see who was knocking on the door. For a moment she stared at him with wide eyes. It wasn't so much the sheer amount of skin that was on show in the teeny tiny amount of clinging black that was masquerading as underwear – although my _God_ that was distracting enough! – But without care and attention his mass of bitter chocolate and white hair had exploded. It looked like his hair had been at a rave whilst he slept. Blinking at her through massive, liquid brown eyes he looked slightly dazed for a moment before his gaze sharpened. And then the smile that broke across his face was as dazzling as a sunrise.

"Melli!"

He chirped in delight, and along with the drawn out "_Melleeeeeeeeee_" he caught hold of her around the waist and spun her and her suitcase into the room, into his arms _and_ closed the door in one fluid movement. The boy had skills! Catching hold of him purely so that he didn't send her spinning across the room like a top, she tripped over said suitcase, dragged him with her and in a drunken sort of doh si doh they collided with the edge of the nearest bed and went down in a tangle of limbs. Winded, Melissa tried to suck air back into her squished lungs; not an easy thing to do when the object that had flattened them in the first place was still sprawled on top of you. Her hands were still clutched at him; one curved around a muscular shoulder and the other apparently flat against his ass as that was the only place she could think of that was actually covered.

"Morning, Seth."

She wheezed. Utterly un-phased Seth gave her the sweetest smile.

"Morning, darling. Jon! Melli's here!"

"Difficult to miss her."

A familiar voice drawled from above her head. Letting it fall back she finally saw her boyfriend in a tangle of duvet, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Help?"

She asked with hope and his grin widened diabolically.

"But you look so cosy."

He replied. Truly if his ankle had been anywhere near her teeth at that moment it would have gone badly for him. Thankfully Seth chose that moment to roll off her; even if it was only to snuggle up against her side with his head resting on Jon's calf and his arm flung with overly-familiar affection across her mid-section. Giving up to the inevitable Melissa settled herself more comfortably onto the bed. And it _was_ a comfortable bed: almost as good as Jon's in Tampa. The marshmallow-ey softness was sucking her in and the blissful heat that came from duvet and two wrestlers' bodies chased away any chills and lingering energy. Then the mattress dipped sharply.

"What the fuck, man?"

Jon complained.

"You're bonding."

Joe's rumbling bass responded. "Like a football team in the bath after a game; only in a bed. You can't bond without me. I'm part of the team!"

"The only similarity the reality has with that metaphor is that Seth tackled my girlfriend onto the bed like a line-backer."

Jon replied with amusement. "Not… what the fuck are you doing!"

"There isn't any more room down at that end."

Joe replied casually.

"I have intimacy issues! They don't react well to snuggling a six feet plus Samoan!"

"Aw, shut up. Hey honey."

A massive hand momentarily draped itself over Melissa's face. Spluttering, Melissa turned her body away and found herself face-to-face with Seth. He smiled at her sleepily.

"Hey."

He whispered. Melissa couldn't help it; she started to giggle.

"Hi Joe."

She cackled. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

A pair of outrageously long and muscular legs pressed against her back and a second duvet – presumably Joe's from the second bed – was draped messily over her and Seth.

"Goddamn it Joe, if I wake up with a wicked hard on because my face is buried in that silky, girly hair of yours I will hurt you."

Jon grumbled.

"Trust me man, you'll know what hurting is if that hard on comes anywhere _near_ me and my silky hair."

Still vibrating with mostly muffled giggles Melissa tucked her head beneath Seth's chin.

"You know, Jon talks an awful lot about that hair of yours, Joe."

Seth mused as without the slightest bit of hesitation or shame he tangled his sleek thighs with Melissa's. "I think he likes it. You know; really _liiiiiiikes_ it."

"Oh fuck you, I do not!"

"It makes you all confused, doesn't it buddy? That silky mass of jet hair. So soft, so… slithery: all on top of a guy that could bounce your ass around the arena if you ran your dick through it like you've been fantasising."

The explosion of expletives from both Jon _and_ Joe this time obviously scored Seth some major guy points. Grinning evilly he tucked Melissa in more firmly against his body and with a sigh of satisfaction snuggled down.

* * *

The chaos subsided into quiet: four lots of mingled breathing stirring the fluffy duvets. A little while later Joe's voice remarked unhappily,

"Fuck you, I think I'm gonna have to shave my hair off now. I won't be able to brush it without thinking of Jon's cock."

"Like that's something new?"

Jon drawled, and there was silence again. Tumbled together like puppies in a basket the fearsome, notorious Shield and their manager slept.


	17. The Game

TLC in the Barclays Centre, Brooklyn. The Shield's first PPV; really the first time they'd been truly tested at all. Melissa was aware that going into the tables, ladders and chairs match against the monster Ryback, the downright terrifying Kane and the fiendish athletic ability of Daniel Bryan everyone thought that the uppity Shield were finally going to receive a little payback. A slightly gleeful grin lit up her face briefly before it faded into something more socially acceptable. After tonight the Shield was going to be the _only_ thing wrestling fans were talking about. A shiver of sensation ran through her and she licked suddenly dry lips. She was rather getting off on the power of it all.

"I hate to interrupt."

A familiar, amused drawl blended in just fine with her frissons of megalomaniac lust. "You look like you're enjoying whatever you've got running through your head right now."

She turned around, smiling and then stilled. She had seen him in the clothes that had been designed for the Shield members before: Christ she had helped to design them! But somehow tonight Jon looked… different. Her eyes roamed from top of his blond head, noticing how the new hairstyle – slicked back with water and wet enough that his curls were barely evident – drew attention to his bone structure and deep-set, hooded eyes. The black T-shirt he wore beneath the padded military vest clung like a second skin to his muscular torso and the black cargo pants did true justice for his thighs and ass. He looked sexy on a whole new level but more than that… he didn't look exactly like Jon. Strange to think how far they had come in such a short time, she thought dazedly, when she set eyes on Dean Ambrose again and realised that she saw very little of her boyfriend in him. He was already in character, she realised: as he'd pulled on the clothes so too had he pulled on that second skin. But maybe that was the wrong analogy; something that could be discarded right along with the clothes. This went deeper than that: occasionally rising to the surface. A second self. An alter ego but meaner, badder, more dangerous and infinitely more selfish. Jon Goode had a girlfriend. Dean Ambrose most assuredly did not. A tremor of arousal, dark and velvet slid through her in an almost tactile way: tugging on unseen parts and spilling heat in its wake. His lips curved, his blue eyes glowing blowtorch bright.

"D…Dean."

She stammered. His smile widened imperceptibly, like the acknowledgement amused him.

"Thinking of me?"

He mused like one simple look at him hadn't completely wiped her brain clean of all thoughts and everything else but pure, smouldering lust. He leant back against one of the wall supports: legs crossed and thumbs hooked casually through his belt loops. "Nah, I don't think so. Thinking good girl thoughts, boss lady thoughts: drawing power and stats and money. But now you're getting it. Now you're thinking about me."

His eyes glittered. "Can't take your eyes _off_ me."

Like a rabbit wouldn't tear its eyes off a rattlesnake. This was crazy, this was _Jon_! Only he wasn't, quite, and it was the unpredictability and excitement that had her trembling. She was in love with Jon but perhaps she had never admitted that it was this alter ego that could reduce her to a mewling, dripping need like nothing else could.

"The… the show will start soon."

It was her last ditch, rather feeble attempt to claw back some control over the situation. Dean gave it the appreciation it deserved… which was none. He moved so quickly she barely had time to gasp before he twisted their bodies and she was pressed up against the support. With one arm hemming her in his free hand slipped through her hair and dragged her head backwards.

"You're gonna watch me anyway, while I'm out there."

He breathed against her ear before his teeth caught hold of her lobe. "While you do you might want to think that afterwards, you're mine."

He rubbed their cheeks together and the burn of his stubble, the strength and power of the body surrounding her was so completely masculine that something core-deep inside her submitted: dominated utterly though he'd barely laid a finger on her. Her hands fluttered helplessly, brushing against the rough material of his vest and she wondered… she wondered if he'd keep the outfit on while he did all those things his eyes were promising. Oh God, that was the wrong thing to think she realised as she had to press her thighs together to ease the sharp, aching need in her: squirming like a teenager with lust. Dean laughed and efficiently, ruthlessly drove his knee between hers to leave her open before him. His hand slid between her thighs, encountering the scalding, wet heat beneath her panties and his long fingers slid deep inside her. Her back arched, fingers scrabbling at his vest as a wave of pleasure hit her so hard she realised he'd taken her to the brink of orgasm with words and sight alone.

"What I'm gonna make you do."

He breathed as his fingers inflicted sheer heaven and hell on her. "Maybe I'll have Roman watch, huh? Not Seth, nah: you two are like brother and sister. But Roman… ah, he _looks_ at you, doesn't he baby? And you have noticed. Yeah, we'll have him watch. See just who you belong to."

If she wanted to reassure him that she certainly had _never_ noticed Roman like that, and he was quite wrong about Roman doing any noticing of his own either then it was unfortunate that his words were the tipping point. Clinging hold of him, wracked by a pleasure that detonated in her core but exploded outwards she was left speechless and slumped against him. Dean smirked. "Later, sweetheart."

He murmured darkly: those burning, gaslight blue eyes promising just how much she was going to pay for this later. Melissa swallowed hard, biting her lip but there was no real fear in the blue depths under her downcast lashes. As Dean saw so well, there was only aching anticipation.

* * *

She was the queen of self-control. She was ice cold. Reminding herself fiercely about just who and what she was Melissa managed to draw a shivering veil of illusion around herself. To everyone else she was Melissa Moran: _the_ hottest writer in WWE at the moment and Stephanie McMahon's protégé. Watching the action like a hawk as the Shield made their way down to the ring for their match part of her brain was mentally taking note; gauging the fans' reactions and the response of a veteran like Kane to the young wolves nipping at his heels. She made notes, she talked intently to Stephanie and Triple H and she continued to lay the foundations for the glittering future that come hell or high water she and Jon _would_ create. And she did all of that with almost all of her attention focused on the blond man in the ring.

* * *

Seth – whether or not she had any feelings that he was her long lost sibling – was destined to stay well clear of the storm brewing between Melissa and Dean. What was intended to be a dramatic stunt definitely turned out that way as he plummeted off a ladder and crashed through a stack of tables. However, they didn't quite break his fall as well as had been intended. He fell just a little short and from the dazed, glassy look to his dark eyes when his two stable mates found him shortly later his brain had rattled around inside his skull like the ball in a pinball machine. Supported by the arms of his friends he was half-carried backstage afterwards.

"I'm _alriiiiiiiiiight_."

He slurred, slumping against the muscular arm of Joe as it wrapped securely around his chest from behind. "Jus'… Jus'… I'ma gonna puke…!"

And as he doubled over the bucket that someone had sensibly placed in front of him the medic shook his head.

"Concussion."

He diagnosed wearily. "What else, really? He should go to the emergency room and get checked out, just in case."

"We were gonna havva parteeeeee."

Seth groaned before heaving again and then whimpering at the agony. Melissa winced and gently pulled back his hair from out of the way: the thick, sweat-drenched locks tangling around her fingers.

"We'll just delay the party for a day or two."

She told him gently as she rubbed circles onto his back. "We won't have it without you."

Seth raised watering, slightly dilated dark eyes to her.

"You won't?"

He asked miserably. Joe hooked an arm around his neck and planted a rough kiss onto his forehead.

"No way! Just a quiet beer. You may as well be lying in a hospital bed it's going to be so dull."

Seth sighed, his shoulders slumping in acquiescence.

"Call Leighla?"

He asked Melissa. "Tell her it's just a little bump but… but come get me and take me home."

"Whatever you want."

Melissa agreed, gently smoothing his hair back from his dead white face. She glanced up at Jon but he was still sky high on adrenaline. His dangerous alter ego hadn't yet slid back under the waters of his unconscious and as such she really doubted he gave the slightest damn about Seth Rollins right now. Looking away from him hastily she assisted Joe and the medic to get him into the ambulance and on his way to the nearest hospital. Joe sighed and raked a hand through his wet, raven hair.

"Shit."

He muttered. "What a night. I'm sad about Seth but it's trying to get through a whole gallon of adrenaline and euphoria. I feel fucking bipolar right now."

Melissa was feeling rather peculiar herself.

"It'll settle. And Seth will be absolutely fine."

Joe nodded. Settling a massive hand on her shoulder he gently squeezed and turned her body in the direction of the dressing rooms.

"We'll get changed and then do you want to go out for a drink? Jon?"

Jon flowed away from the wall he was leaning against. He walked so close to Joe that their bodies brushed.

"Yeah. Let's… celebrate."

Melissa looked at him with a mixture of dread and disbelief. Jesus, he hadn't been _serious_ about including Joe, had he? But there was a glitter in his eyes that she didn't trust at all; a look of purely evil intention. Melissa felt her knees lock, stopping her dead in her tracks but Joe was looking after his friend with a sort of confused curiosity: picking up that something was different but not quite knowing what. Nudging her into motion they both followed him towards the dressing room.

* * *

Dean walked straight through into the showers: chunky, military style wrestling boots kicked left behind in his wake. Melissa caught the clinging black T-shirt as it almost hit her and drew it nervously through her fingers.

"Come and scrub my back."

The throaty voice made the blood rise up her throat to burn in her cheeks. Vowing to ignore him she started to come undone when the black cargo pants whipped out through the doorway. The unmistakable sound of the shower started up: a fog of damp heat in the air. "Don't wanna keep me waiting, sweetheart."

He taunted. "I _will_ come out there and get you."

Melissa swallowed hard.

"He's in a weird mood tonight."

She half excused him, half explained to Joe. The big man carefully scraped his hair back into a casual ponytail; his expression deliberately neutral.

"Seems so."

He agreed. Trembling with tension Melissa took one step, and then another. She was weak. She was weak and this was inappropriate in _so_ many ways but she could not deny the heat uncoiling within her. She stepped into the showers.

* * *

Before Melissa could blink Dean pulled her roughly against him. His hands were everywhere: her face, her hair, fingers trailing down her back and across her belly. And just when it felt like her blood was literally burning in her veins he broke away. Holding her eyes his hands dropped to the waistband of the clinging black boxers he was still wearing. Breathing fast Melissa drank in the show as it was offered: the length of the legs, the solid muscles, the line of dark gold hair that ran from his navel to the impressive bulge at his crotch. Slowly he eased them down over his legs, stepping out of them and leaving them in a puddle on the floor without interest in the fact that his underwear was soaking up water like a sponge. And then he was gloriously, heartbreakingly nude, stepping backwards into the hot spray of the shower. Melissa felt her breath cut out, something clenching deep inside her and for a moment she was content to watch, titillating herself as the hot spray ran down over his golden, silken skin. He lifted his hands to his hair, pushing it backwards and his muscles moved in a way that had her stifling a moan of sheer longing.

"Come here."

His voice was rough with arousal and commanding. Melissa licked her lips and stepped forward to join him beneath the spray, forgetting that she was still fully clothed. The dress became transparent in a moment and Dean's eyes dilated with desire to the point they seemed almost blind. The fraying self-control was there in the way that he tugged at the zip, dragging it down and then peeling the soaked material away from her skin. She stood there naked in front of him: feeling a little vulnerable at the sheer predatory hunger in his eyes. "Get down on your knees."

He rasped. "I've been thinking of your lips around me since before the show."

Melissa bit her lip. She glanced uncertainly over her shoulder towards the other room. It was ominously quiet in there.

"But… Joe?"

That wicked smile curved his lips.

"Yeah. Joe. Listening to every little sound."

Laughing at the look on her face he caught hold of her and pressed her against the rigid proof of his arousal. She'd seen aroused before but rarely to this point. Sex, violence, the fact that being watched pushed his buttons as hard as it did hers as his control was ready to snap. He was so turned on and she liked it. Oh holy Christ, she really liked it. Squeezing some of his shower gel onto her hand she wrapped her fingers around him. The slickness of her grasp made him moan; going fast right from the get-go as the heat of his erection soaked into her hand. Her thumb swirled over the weeping crown of him and she watched, enraptured as he swore and shuddered, his back arching. Using her hand until the last of the shower gel on his skin had washed away she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth, sucking until her cheeks went hollow. His grip on her hair made sensation prickle over her skin; his moans making her breath come faster and the pre-come tang of him spread over her tongue like ambrosia. Knowing that he was close to the edge she gave him what he needed: the scrape of teeth over his flesh. She felt the shiver that wracked his body; sure as hell felt it when his grip on her hair tightened and he drew her down fully on his length. Spilling into her mouth with a moan that had her teetering almost on the brink of orgasm herself, she swallowed everything that he had to give her.

* * *

Melissa felt her bare feet touch the floor, the muscles in her legs trembling with weakness when he pulled her back to her feet. Dean gave her a lazy smile, kissing her with slow, languorous skill that had her melting against him. His hand rubbed against her bare belly and she purred softly with pleasure. Running his hands down her body he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Your turn."

He purred and she sagged back against the tiles; her eyes washed black with need. Dropping to his knees in front of her he ran his hands up from her feet, moulding to her calf muscles, long fingers running over the sensitive skin behind her knees and making her breath come in a slow sigh. He smiled, beginning to explore the soft skin of her thighs, slowly easing them apart. Melissa relaxed back against the wall, running her fingers through his wet hair, eyes fluttering closed when she felt his lips press against her inner thighs. He moved, lifting one of her legs to hook over his broad shoulders and she knew that she was completely open to him now. The thought made her moan softly, even before he touched her, the memory of just how good Dean was at this making her body flood with liquid heat. Ducking his head, his golden hair gone dark with water, Dean drew his tongue over her in one long, smooth lick and Melissa gasped, her hips bucking instinctively. He looked up at her, that heat in his eyes when a man finds a woman totally desirable, and knows that she belongs to him. Melissa whimpered, her head falling back briefly as he began to explore her with his tongue. She wanted to watch him though, the sight of him blissfully arousing and while he knelt at her feet she felt the strength in the hands on her hips, knew the dominance of the man kneeling between her legs. Sounds were beginning to spill from her lips, breathless moans as he used his mouth and fingers to torment and bring her to that shining edge again and again, denying her release until she was begging him. Suddenly Dean moved, surging upwards and spinning her around to face the wall. It was hard and cold against her nipples and tummy, but his hot body was pressed up against her from behind, and she was unable to move even if she were to try. She felt Dean move against her, the thick, rigid length of him rubbing between her legs and against her folds. It felt so good that her eyes rolled back but it wasn't enough, she needed to feel him inside her.

"Quiet, isn't he?"

He murmured against her ear. "Almost like he left. But he didn't and you know it. He's still in there, listening to it all."

She gasped, shuddering.

"P… please. Jon, I _need_ you!"

"Tell me then."

He whispered into her ear, sliding back and forth between her legs and she was going to go insane with the pleasure. "Tell _him_."

"Oh God, Jon, please!"

"Tell me!"

"Fuck me!"

She cried out, provoked beyond endurance. "Oh God, Jon I need you to make me come!"

And as though her words pushed him a little too far his control snapped. Lifting her into his arms he pressed her up against the tiled wall of the shower, the hot water beating down around them. The force of her longing made her ready for him as she wrapped her legs around his waist and trusted in his strength to support her. Slowly he began to ease inside her and the incredible sensation of that thick length being pushed into her body brought her to the edge so fast that she was reeling.

"Jon, do it!"

She gasped, her inner muscles clenching around him and he moaned. Using the muscles in his hips and thighs he began to drive into her, the sound of their flesh meeting making a slick, lewd noise that only aroused her more. She could feel it building in the pit of her stomach and her hands dropped to his back, feeling the muscles rippling as he moved. It was a display of pure masculine dominance and it was enough to tip her over the edge, crying out in pleasure as a hot, shuddering orgasm hit her right between the eyes. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, her inner muscles tensing around him like they never wanted to let him go and Dean fought against them, pushing deeper, deeper into her body until he gasped, pressing his face against her throat as he came deep inside her.

* * *

A towel wrapped around his hips Jon rummaged through his suitcase to find fresh clothes. Sitting beside him Melissa tried hard to look cool and dignified despite the fact that she was wearing his boxers and his shirt belted at the waist in place of her own, soaking wet dress. Great; the Shield's first PPV and she was going to have to do the Walk of Shame in front of half the WWE. She looked up as Joe cleared his throat.

"I'm just gonna…"

He jerked his head towards the showers and her eyes widened in disbelief. Oddly enough it was the first time that she had ever seen him blush. "Shower!"

He yelped. "I'm gonna shower."

And he stalked into the showers as though he was half convinced she was going to rip his clothes off if he stayed behind. Jon chuckled and spinning around she smacked him hard.

"You prick."

She said with feeling. Jon's laughter rippled out through the room.

"In FCW he was my friend. Now he's my stable mate and fuck all this "all pigs are equal" shit, there's only going to be one driver in this car."

"And him hearing you have sex with your girlfriend is going to make you that driver?"

She asked incredulously. His eyes glittered.

"I meant what I said earlier. He _has_ noticed you. So yeah, better believe that tonight counted for a hell of a lot."

"You…"

Melissa was lost for words. The manipulative depths of the man were absolutely diabolical. She looked up at him in wonder.

"You're never going to bore me, are you?"

She asked weakly. He chuckled.

"Neither will you."

Bending down he tilted her chin up and kissed her until she was truly grateful she was already sitting down, or her legs would have given way completely. "I will remember tonight for a very, very long time."

He promised her, running his tongue over his lower lip. Grinning, he straightened up and resumed his hunt for some clean pants.

* * *

**Erm... it's a sexplosion of smut! I have no idea whether I need to apologise for this chapter or not lol**


	18. The Lost Ones

Melissa took one final glance around at her apartment in Stamford. Everything was set for a nine-day absence: first meeting up with the Shield at Raw in Chicago and then heading down to Tampa with Jon for Christmas. Satisfied that everything was as it should be she was just locking the door when the mail man arrived.

"Sign for this, Ms Moran?"

He asked cheerfully. She scrawled her signature on his electronic pad and he pressed the box into her hands. Peering at it curiosity she glanced at her watch and swore softly. She was going to be so late! Stuffing the box into her hand luggage with no more thought she dashed downstairs to the waiting car.

* * *

Christmas Eve in Chicago and the Superstars that had been at tonight's Raw taping were scattering to the four corners of the US. They had a week off, a _whole_ week off and nobody was expected anywhere before San Francisco next Monday. After a bit of discussion she and Jon had agreed that a week in a hotel suite wasn't all that necessary when he had the comfiest bed in the world, and New York would be entirely wasted on them when they really had no plans to leave said bed for the whole week. Seth and Joe also still living in Tampa for the moment; the four of them were travelling down together.

"Why is it so _coooooooold_?"

Seth moaned: his sleek and sexy self already wrapped up in so many layers he looked positively Mark Henry-esque. Pulling his massive suitcase alongside hers he juggled a neck pillow, a set of jumbo headphones, his hand luggage and a bar of something from the airport Whole Foods that had grossed Melissa out completely after reading "protein", "high fibre" and the dreaded "cleansing". Seeing her horrified eyes on his breakfast Seth misinterpreted it, sweet boy that he was.

"Want a bite?"

"I think I'll wait until we check in and I can have something hot and greasy with sausages."

Seth wrinkled his nose.

"That is so bad for you."

He chided. "_My_ body is a temple!"

Melissa slanted him an amused glance.

"You're a pro-wrestler. Your temple gets profaned on a nightly basis."

"Well sure it's a bit battered on the outside but inside its real pretty! Lots of beeswax polishing, lots of gold statues and holy chanting."

Melissa was still laughing when the final two members of their group returned from an urgent Starbucks run.

"Two manly and extra strong Americano's."

Jon recited, propping one giant-sized container on top of his suitcase and handing Joe the other. "One skinny soya low this, no that shitty latte made from the lovingly tended coffee beans that healthy and happy workers from fucking deepest Guatemala have prayed over before it dropped into your recycled paper and entirely biodegradable cup."

Seth flipped him the middle finger.

"You have issues."

He replied serenely before breathing in the steam from his drink with a look of near ecstasy. "Mmmmmm!"

Jon pulled the final cup from the cardboard holder.

"And finally one extra shot, heart attack in a cup mocha that would scar Seth for life if he had any idea what you drink on a regular basis."

He grinned evilly at his friend. "Real cows! Real sugar! And… dum dum dummmmmm… _chocolate_!"

"Stop trying to make Seth cry."

Melissa said with amusement as she took the cup off her boyfriend. Their fingers brushed and she flipped the lid of the cup; gazing lovingly at the cap of stiff whipped cream. "My precious."

She cooed: Gollum style. Grinning, Jon draped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. Seth gave them both a dirty look.

"You're both evil and I will make you say sorry to me when you have to buy an extra seat on the plane because that shit has made your ass blow up like a bouncy castle! I will! And after you've said sorry I will _laugh_!"

"Harsh."

Joe said mildly, trying to hide a smile. Melissa peered over her shoulder, trying to check out the size of her backside.

"I do _not_ have a big bum! Seth Rollins that is a horrible thing to say! Jon? Jon, I don't right?"

"Ah baby, you know what they say."

Jon drawled with that lazy, languorous look on his face that said something truly outrageous was coming. "The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'."

Melissa's jaw dropped.

"Better believe you're going to pay for _that_ later."

She said conversationally as Seth almost slumped over his suitcase in hilarity. Joe shook his head and a strand of liquid jet hair fell over his face.

"Shall we get checked in?"

He asked diplomatically. Curling her lip at her smirking boyfriend she sniffed haughtily, flipped back her hair and flounced ahead of them before coming to a screeching halt when she realised how stupid that was.

"And stop looking at my backside!"

"I wasn't!"

Seth protested, looking mildly appalled at the very thought whilst Jon cracked up behind him.

* * *

"Twelve hours?"

Three hours later Jon wasn't sounding half so amused. "Twelve fucking _hours_?"

"The snow is coming down heavily now, sir. No planes can land or take off while conditions are like this and then we have to clear the runways."

Melissa glanced outside. It was a like being inside a snow globe. Outside, Chicago was obscured by a riot of swirling snowflakes. Planes huddles like cows in a windswept pasture: fast taking on pelts of pure white snow. She shivered at how cold it must be out there by now and Jon halted in his conversation with the airline official; eyebrows swooping in concern.

"Cold? You want my jacket?"

"Nah."

She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her hands beneath his thick, downy jacket. "It just looks so cold out there!"

His eyebrows lifted, lips curving into a smirk as her hands wandered innocently downwards and slid into his back pockets; cupping a healthy handful of butt as she did so.

"That's one way of keeping warm."

He drawled. "But if you were planning to say anytime soon about me carrying more junk in my trunk than you'd realised I will have a hissy fit."

Melissa burst into a gleeful giggle. Damn, she was so busted! It would have been a truly beautiful moment of revenge. Saying that though the double handful of deliciousness was its own reward: the man had the finest, tightest ass she had ever seen.

"You would, huh?"

"Mmm hmm."

He agreed before his lips brushed across hers.

"Maybe even cry a little?"

"Like a garden sprinkler."

He assured her before claiming her lips for a longer, more intense kiss that had her melting in against his body.

"Well I wouldn't want that."

She said breathlessly when she finally came up for air. His body was playing its usual magic on her: the size and sheer masculine heat of him seeping beneath her skin whilst the play of muscles beneath her eager hands made her badly want to yank off all those pesky layers that were in the way and see the show up close and personal.

"Nuh uh."

He nuzzled her ear, making her toes curl with pleasure.

"I suppose that I'll just have to be nice to you then."

"Very, very nice to me."

He purred.

"If I have to watch this for twelve… goddamn… _hours_ I will vomit."

Seth commented mildly from nearby. He shot them a look from beneath ridiculously thick, black lashes. "Just a l'il heads up. I will vomit Exorcist style!"

"Jealousy."

Jon sighed. "It's such an ugly emotion."

"I have a girlfriend!"

Seth yelped. "She's in Florida! I – you might have noticed – am not. I'm already well aware of what I am not doing with her right now. I don't need the two of you providing a visual."

"Aw, Seth."

Immediately filled with guilt Melissa disentangled herself from Jon and crossed over where her friend was sitting on a nearby row of chairs. Wrapping her arm around his shoulders she hugged him in against her. "I'm sorry!"

He huffed, gorgeous face transforming into something akin to a pouting bulldog: his lower lip pooched out to an extreme. Hooking his arm behind her knee he swept her leg out from under her to plop her down into the seat beside him then simply dumped himself into her lap. Although his lower half was still on his own chair she found herself with an armful of pro-wrestler, his shoulders twice as wide as hers, and a mouthful of thick black hair.

"I'm so sad!"

He wailed. Mildly horrified Melissa gingerly patted one muscular bicep.

"There, there."

She sympathised lamely. Grasping her hands he tugged on them until she was embracing him from behind; her face squished against his shoulder. Sagging sideways like a fairy tale princess he gazed up at her sorrowfully.

"Twelve hours!"

"Poor, poor Seth."

Jon's smile had been growing wider and wider, watching this.

"One of you is truly in touch with your emotions."

He drawled. "I hate to say this, baby, but it sure as hell isn't you."

Melissa gave him a dirty look from over Seth's shoulder and then, grumbling softly to herself, propped her chin on him and gave in to the inevitable juggernaut that was his affectionate streak. Sighing, Seth let his head fall back until their cheeks were pressed together: the wiry softness of his beard, lemony scent of his shower gel and intense body heat oddly comforting. She had never really had anyone to cuddle before. The tension slowly eased from her body; her hand patting his and Seth tangled their fingers together as he squeezed hers in silent response.

"Yo."

Joe returned from his explorations with two shopping bags and a determined expression on his face. "I have booze. I've found some quiet little lounge thing that has massage chairs and if we can find some food on the way there then I will be a _very_ happy boy. Let's go."

"We're camping?"

Seth sounded amused. Joe's smile flashed white against his bronze skin.

"I used to be a boy scout. Now shift your ass."

* * *

The lounge that he'd found was down an endless length of corridor; past most of the gates which was probably why it was left unnoticed by the majority. A fifteen minute walk over some of the ugliest carpeting she had ever seen and they arrived at a deserted little oasis of fake plants, black leather massage chairs and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the snow-covered runway. Dumping down coats and hand luggage, they spread out like they owned the place and truly, how likely was it that anyone would intrude when three such hulking man-beasts had made such an obviously territorial claim?

"Mugs?"

Joe asked: all business. All four of them carried thermal travel mugs; the kind with lids and on his command they were produced and lined up in a row. Pulling out a mammoth bottle of spiced dark rum from one of the bags Joe broke the seal and splashed such insane measures into each mug that Melissa's eyes were boggling.

"If I drink that I think my liver will explode on the spot."

Joe slanted her a glance from piercing blue grey eyes.

"We'll carry you onto the plane."

He promised and dove back into the bag for a bottle of Coke.

* * *

Stripped down to black jeans, socks and a clinging black woollen sweater that clung like pure poetry to his chest and arms Jon was sprawled in one of the massage chairs like it was his own living room. The man had a ridiculous tolerance for alcohol but the rum was something like 40% and he'd drunk a lot of it. Blue eyes sleepy and half closed he held the travel mug in one hand whilst the other was wrapped around Melissa. Tucked in against him in the minute amount of space left on the chair one thigh was hooked over his and her fingers traced patterns onto his stomach. Seth had switched his iPhone onto speaker; something relatively mellow considering his hardcore metal tastes playing in the background. The sun was going down, she noticed: gazing rapt out of the massive windows. The weather hardly allowed a spectacular sunset but the swirling snow clouds were tinged with rose and gold. Siting closest to the windows it cast Seth into the shadows whilst sprawled out on the floor in his bare feet Joe was illuminated like a golden idol. Fanned out in a halo around his head the sunset lit his hair with dark fire: picking out blue and purple highlights. Filled with contentment and happiness – not to mention quarter of a bottle of spiced rum – Melissa decided to capture the moment. With a grunt and a wriggle she managed to prise herself away from her lover and he groaned with protest, pouting. Grabbing her handbag she rummaged around for her phone, thinking to take a photo of the moment; the three of them lying there so still and sleepy for once. Instead of the phone she found the box that had been delivered just before she left Stamford and promptly forgotten about.

"Huh!"

She mumbled, examining it. A Philly postmark? Who was sending her anything from Philly?

"What's that?"

Seth asked nosily.

"I don't know. It arrived just before I left."

"And you haven't opened it? It might be a Christmas gift!"

"Who's going to send me a Christmas gift through the post?"

She replied with amusement. Seth grinned.

"A secret admirer! Someone saw you on FCW and fell head over heels in luuuuurve."

"And waited until Christmas to tell me."

She teased, laughing and then groaned when he rolled off the chair and landed with a thump beside her. "Get off! God, you have absolutely no sense of personal boundaries."

"I do too."

Seth sounded indignant. "But you're my friend. With you I don't need them."

Jon gave a snort of laughter.

"Interesting logic."

He murmured. Squabbling and slapping at each other like children the Philly postmark was completely obliterated along with the wrapping as they ripped it away to the box beneath.

"Jewellery?"

Melissa asked, confused. She looked up at her boyfriend. "Jon…?"

He turned rather pale.

"Just the thought of buying you something like that brings me out in a cold sweat. Maybe in another ten years or so…"

He swallowed hard and Melissa rolled her eyes. And then she had a horrible, truly horrible idea. Because if her boyfriend had a panic attack at the mere thought of buying her something as meaningful as jewellery then there was one other person that just might.

"Seth…"

She started but it was too late. Flipping open the beautiful, dark blue velvet lid they both stopped dead at the stunning necklace that was revealed. Hung from a fragile, platinum chain the rose was crafted entirely from a ruby. It was carved from a single gem; in such flawless, intricate detail that Melissa heard an awed gasp escape from her lips. Seth's eyes widened.

"Whoa!"

"What in the holy fuck…?"

Jon's blue eyes had widened. Desperately Melissa tried to snatch at the card but Seth was quicker.

"I love you, once and now and always."

He grinned and put on a breathy, adoring voice. "I know you still love me… too…"

His voice began to falter before grinding to a halt altogether before he read the last line.

_Whatever I have to do to get you back, I will do. We need to talk._

_DJ_

Their eyes met: shock, disbelief and appalled embarrassment breaking over them both. Frozen in horror at what had just happened she saw Seth's well-shaped mouth form into a single sentence.

"Oh shit."

* * *

A large, calloused hand swooped down and plucked both gift and card from Seth's frozen hands. Jon swiftly read the note and then slowly looked down at her. Melissa flinched as she watched his eyes blaze pure, phosphorescent blue and his fire explode past danger point.

"What the fuck is this?"

His voice was little above a whisper he was so angry. Melissa slowly rose to her feet.

"He's got the wrong idea. Jon, I never gave him any reason to make him think…"

"Why the fuck would he do this out of the blue?"

His voice was a whip crack. "I know DJ. He has an ego as big as Philly. If he was ass-hurt because you dumped him then there's no way he'd come to you like this."

Melissa winced. Damn, he really did know DJ…

"I… we… we've spoken a couple of times."

She admitted, her voice faltering. Oh God, oh God, oh God, she had really messed up, hadn't she? "Since I left he's been struggling with the storylines. He… he asked for help. It was Masada, Jon! That whole angle was my baby…"

"Don't you fucking dare."

He breathed and she stopped dead, flushing. He took a slow breath. "So this clean break… You're telling me you've still got a working relationship with your ex?"

About the make excuses, about to tell him that it was the smallest thing, the most negligible input Melissa stopped herself. Maybe he needed to know the truth.

"Yes."

"Knowing that if WWE find out that you're actively writing for the competition your ass will be fired flat?"

She trusted DJ that he'd never let that information leak out and hurt her, but…

"Yes."

"And did you ever get around to telling him that you were seeing someone new?"

Melissa closed her eyes. Really, what excuse was there?

"No."

"You _coward_."

The words came out so softly and yet oddly she had no problem hearing them like he'd screamed them into her ear. "So that's how it is. Funny that it had to be DJ fucking Hyde to be the one to tell me. He's still your guy. He's the one that you run to, who buys you beautiful fucking jewellery until that day he buys you the ultimate piece. And me? I was just the in-between. The dirty little secret. I was your shot at the big time that just got fucking complicated."

"Jon…!"

But he had gone; stalking off down the corridor with the hideous carpet and Melissa felt something inside her break. She had just shattered the best thing that had ever happened to her.

* * *

There was a door that led outside; away from the rest of the airport. It was probably for maintenance or something. Standing outside with no coat and no shoes Jon slowly sank down to the floor and put his head in his hands. He started shaking and couldn't stop; and when he stared out at the snow covered runway it was through a hundred diamond prisms as the tears froze to his lashes. The coat settled down over his shoulders before Joe slouched down beside him and pressed their shoulders together: adding his body heat to Jon's. Jon scrubbed at his eyes, sniffing but even as he rubbed the wetness away new moisture flowed to replace it.

"I'm sorry, man."

Joe's voice was quiet. A tremor hit Jon's chest and he felt it rip him apart inside; biting his lip to stop himself from making a sound. "Jon… shit…"

A huge hand slid blunt fingers through his hair and drew him closer. Jon's head hit Joe's shoulder and the sympathy undid him as nothing else could have. Wracked with tremors Jon hid his tears from his best friend and trusted the man to keep his secret; to hold him together until the worst was over.


	19. The Burning

Melissa stood frozen as she watched her boyfriend stalk down the corridor. Away from her. Out of her life? She could not see how he could bring himself to walk back into it, considering what had just happened. And the sheer dread and terror that was spawned from that thought had her jerking after him.

"Wait."

She spun around helplessly, to glare at Joe and his damned commands.

"I can't wait! Don't you get it? He trusts so few people, no women but he let himself trust _me_. And this will have hit him hard, Joe! Every doubt, every little fear: after this he'll think they were right all along and he should never, ever have let himself get close to me. I need to talk to him! I need to make him see…"

It was a strange time to realise how warm Joe had always been with her; how he had always been her friend until suddenly those blue grey eyes were like a steel blade wielded in the snow and he was not her friend anymore.

"Yeah."

He said quietly in that bass sub-sonic rumble. "He'll be thinking exactly that."

_And maybe he'd be right_. The words went unsaid but not unheard and Melissa flinched hard; gazing at him with terrible betrayal, and _guilt_. Guilt was an acid wash in your stomach as your heart dropped low and for a frozen moment you felt your life shattering around you and it was so much worse because it was not a quirk of fate, it was entirely down to you. Guilt was soul destroying. Joe grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and without another word went off after him. Both of them in bare feet she thought dazedly: they'd both catch their death. She stood, staring down the corridor they had both gone down and her teeth sank into her lower lip until she tasted blood: refusing to let herself cry. She was not weak, whatever she had done and tears were so often a "get out of jail free" card. She stood alone. She deserved it. And then a hand closed around her shoulder and gently turned her around. Seth's eyes were liquid with compassion.

"We all mess up sometimes."

He said simply and suddenly it was like she was trying to swallow a golf ball: the harsh pain of suppressed tears in her chest. Seth tugged on her gently and she crumpled in against his chest, wrapping her arms around his slim waist more desperately than she _ever_ had. Seth immediately echoed her; arms wrapped around her so tight she was mashed to his muscular chest with her face pressed against his throat.

"I think I've really messed up, Seth."

Her voice cracked and he made a soft noise of pain; ducking his head over hers. She did not cry, though she trembled uncontrollably. And Seth held her throughout; making sure that she did not fall apart.

* * *

They all had tickets to sit together on the plane. Not surprisingly by the time it was finally announced that they could board – a whole _fifteen_ hours after what had been originally scheduled – Jon and Joe were nowhere in sight. Seth and Melissa had finished the rum. Maybe it was a stupid thing to do – both she and Seth being the most tremendous lightweights - but then again it would hardly be the first stupid thing she'd done recently. After half a bottle of rum Melissa wasn't feeling much pain anymore. In fact she was barely feeling _anything_. The world was a soft, fuzzy thing around her. Seth's eyes were barely open, chocolate brown slits in his alcohol-flushed face as he shoved their hand luggage into the overhead locker and pushed Melissa inelegantly ahead of him into the seat nearest the window.

"Did they… they get on the plane?"

She slurred, rising to her feet again and trying to look around. The plane was half full of exhausted, cranky people that should have been in bed asleep at 3am; not just setting out on their journey. Some of them were already asleep. She wanted nothing more than to join them but flying to Tampa whilst her boyfriend was wandering wraith-like through Chicago airport was not likely to make her situation better. Seth pushed her down again.

"I'll look."

He informed her, squinting. "You… you get some water, kay?"

"Kay."

She agreed wearily. Seth wandered off down the aisle and she looked around hopefully for an air hostess bearing water. They were all busy securing the overhead lockers and answering questions so she waited patiently. Her eyes slid shut and she forced them open again, blinking against the grittiness. She had to… had to get Seth some water… God, her head felt so heavy! She had to… had to wait… Drenched in rum, Melissa's body was not prepared to wait for anything. Her eyes closed again and this time Morpheus was not messing around. She slept.

* * *

Seth found Joe and Jon near the back of the plane. Jon was gazing sightlessly out of the window. White faced and dead eyed he looked worse than Seth had ever seen him. Joe looked up sharply.

"I thought that you stayed with her?"

Seth pulled himself up to his full height.

"I did. I am. We were checking that you guys got on the plane. Jon, man…"

"If the next few words that come out of your mouth include her name, we will have problems."

Jon said very quietly, without looking at him. Seth winced and dithered. One the one hand he really should try and fix this mess between his two friends but on the other he had known Jon for two years now, and he knew that tone of voice. Jon was the most loyal of friends and he'd have your back through hell itself… if you had his. Seth did not especially want to be thrown off this long-awaited flight because Jon had lunged for his throat and Seth had been forced to defend himself. He glanced at Joe uncertainly but the big Samoan offered now help. Seth did not like how they had split so neatly into two factions.

"I'm still your friend."

He said urgently because Jon got it into his head that it was a case of Us and Them. Jon finally looked at him and his blue eyes were grey with utter desolation. But he managed to smile.

"I'm still your friend."

He agreed. "Joe is still _her_ friend. She's still the fucking boss and until I sit down with her she's also still my fucking girlfriend. I know how it is, Seth."

Quite overcome with drunken emotion Seth leant past Joe and grabbed his friend by his short, curly hair. Pressing their foreheads together he gazed deeply into Jon's blue eyes.

"I love you."

He told him with simple sincerity. A swirl of blue colour through the bleak grey depths let him know that Jon acknowledged this, and was grateful for it. Just as well really that he was adept at reading his friend's hidden messages because the shove that Jon gave him to get him out of his face was hard enough to have Seth almost face-planting Joe's crotch.

"Fuck off."

Jon told him lovingly. Seth fucked off.

* * *

Jon opened the apartment door and walked inside. Heading straight to the fridge he pulled out a bottle of Grey Goose vodka. Splashing a generous measure into a mug he knocked it back and felt the liquor burn down his throat. Splashing some more into the mug and taking another gulp he only then turned his attention to more practical matters. The heating started up with its usual wheezing groan, the TV provided a babble of background noise and the curtains blocked out the growing light of day. Stripping off his clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor he padded naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Pain scorched through him, leaving him breathless when he glanced at the shelves inside. Her shampoo, her razor, her silly bath puff which she used to lather on the creamy moisturising shower gel she favoured. Up until that moment he honestly hadn't realised how much time she spent at his place until he realised that more than likely, she wouldn't be coming back. With a choked snarl of fury he grabbed the shampoo, ripped off the top and started squeezing the stuff down the drain. The smell bitch-slapped him soundly across the face: coconuts and honey like some damned tropical cocktail. He had loved the mornings that he woke up with his head buried in a silken tangle of hair that smelled like that. His breath ripped in his chest. God, why had she had to do it? From the moment she had walked into his life she had brought a happiness that he would never have believed and within the space of five minutes she had taken it all away again.

"Bitch!"

He sobbed, only when his voice cracked he realised that the wetness on his face was not due entirely to the water from the shower. "Oh, you fucking bitch."

And the tragic thing was as much as he was hurting, as betrayed as he felt, some part of him was utterly desperate for her to apologise so that he could forgive her already. The one that had hurt him the most was the only one who could give him comfort.

* * *

When he opened the door to the apartment twelve hours later he found her on his doorstep. She was curled up on top of her suitcase, the doorway providing some shelter from the wind. Wrapped up in her coat, scarf, hat and mittens her knees were hugged against her chest for warmth. Jon stopped dead. Seth would have been 100% certain to offer her a place to stay so what the hell was she doing here? She hadn't rang the doorbell: she hadn't been delusional enough to expect that their plans would remain the same. Her eyes opened suddenly.

"I couldn't go anywhere without trying to talk to you."

She said as though she'd heard his thoughts. Jon looked at her and realised that he was in no mood to listen. He was angry, fucking hell, he was so angry!

"I don't have anything to say that you'll want to hear."

He rasped. Melissa shot to her feet.

"Then _listen_."

She pleaded. She put both hands on his chest and he could feel them like two burnings brands sinking into his flesh. "Jon, DJ got the wrong idea but I'll _tell_ him! I will! I know I was a coward but I didn't want to hurt him. But if I'd realised what he would think… what he would hope… But I'll tell him now!"

Taking hold of her delicate wrists Jon broke them away from his chest.

"The problem is darlin' that I don't believe you."

He said pleasantly. "Because fuck knows, you lied to me before. You got some grand declaration from me about my feelings and you didn't change a damn thing. Fool me once, shame on you sweetheart but fool me twice and shame on fucking me, for believing that you'd change."

"No!"

She wailed and she had two handfuls of his sweater now: harder to dislodge without hurting her. A foolish move on her part; couldn't she see how _badly_ he wanted to hurt her right now? If she did she was also trusting to some intrinsic goodness in him that only she had ever seen, and seemingly without fear that yesterday had killed it stone dead. "I didn't cheat on you! There was no fooling Jon, I didn't intend this!"

"This is not a goddamn law court!"

His voice was raising now to echo hers. "Intent does not count for a damn thing when you have your fucking ex sending you thousands of dollars' worth of jewellery because you've made him think he still has a shot!"

"I never said anything to make him think that!"

She screamed back at him. "I will tell him how things stand but you can't accuse me of the malice of deliberately stringing him along!"

"Did you ever try to let him go?"

Jon was almost ready to strangle her by now. "After his injury? Did you honestly try? Can you look me in the eye and promise me that you cut off all communication and this is all from him?"

For a moment hope lit the broken shards of his heart and he felt a weak pulse of life. God knows that he knew DJ. If anyone was arrogant and bull-headed enough to ignore all proof to the contrary in his utter conviction that his ex was still in love with him then it was that guy… And he saw the guilt in her eyes. He saw the way she flinched just a little. "Oh you fucking bitch."

He sighed, and raked his hands through his hair. A second later she released a sharp, choked yelp as his hand shot out and connected with his door; leaving a fist-sized dent in the wood. He'd have to pay the landlord for damages but better the fucking door than his girlfriend. As the pain screamed through his hand, oddly cleansing, silence fell other than their hectic, stressed breathing.

"I'm sorry."

The fight had gone out of her and she sounded very tired and very small. His face twisted into some semblance of a smile.

"The problem with this pedestal that I had you up on…"

He murmured. "Is that it was so high and so white you had a long way to fall."

"I'll go back to Stamford."

She said quietly. "I'll give you time."

He nodded. Truthfully the thought of her leaving sent a lance of panic into his guts but if she stayed then she would be the outlet for his rage and it would not be pretty. "Will you be alright?"

He gave a bark of laughter that was utterly devoid of humour.

"Oh sure."

He replied mockingly. "This will hardly be the first holiday I'll go out and get shitfaced. Wake up the next morning with some random chick wrapped around my cock. Merry fucking Christmas to me."

She did not flinch but she paled, a muscle beginning to twitch next to her eye.

"Do that and it really will be over."

Her voice was gentle over a core of pure steel. He almost had to admire her balls.

"Hypocrite."

He said scathingly and she lifted her shoulders.

"I didn't cheat on you. Why would I? You're the only one I'll ever want."

And with that she walked away, her suitcase trundling along behind her.

* * *

**_Philadelphia, Pennsylvania_**

**_Five Days Later_**

DJ sat at the table in the arena with a ledger. Counting out piles of cash and consulting his ledger he split them into envelopes and wrote the different wrestlers' names on each. A good end to the year, he thought, though if it stayed that way with Melli gone and the almighty Masada struggling more and more obviously with his knees fuck only knows. If Melli had been here she would have seen it; probably already started grooming someone to replace him when the stubborn bastard finally gave in and admitted that he needed surgery. A wave of longing and desperation flooded through him but with the skill of long practice he held his breath and waited until it receded. She should have called by now, shouldn't she? She should have received the necklace?

_You did say that the two of you needed to talk, after the holidays._

An inner voice comforted him. _Maybe she's just waiting for you to call?_

Yeah, that was it. He'd call her tonight and invite her down to Philly, or go up there. He knew that if they just sat down and talked then she'd come home. He should have said something at the time but truthfully he'd been so stunned and the pain had stolen his voice. He'd just let her walk away and the regret for that kept him awake at nights.

* * *

The door opened quietly and DJ glanced up distractedly, thinking it was one of the guys really desperate for their money. His eyes widened in total shock.

"What the fuck…? _Moxley_?"

Jon Moxley prowled into the room and shut the door behind him. Propping his ass against the table he stretched his long legs out and stared at DJ through those unnerving, glittering blue eyes.

"Hiya Deej; long time no see."

"Yeah, well, I haven't missed you."

DJ replied bluntly. What the fuck was he doing here? Not begging for work: his ascension to the big time as part of the Shield was the talk of the independents. And sure as hell not for old time's sake: Jon had always despised DJ for having wealthy parents, for being educated and choosing wrestling as a business venture rather than it being the core of his life and faith like it was for Jon. DJ in turn has resented the hell for the psychotic fucker for having charisma by the truck load and having so much talent that even as he had loathed him, he'd had no choice but to make him Heavyweight Champion. "Want to tell me what the hell you want so I can tell you to fuck off and you can be gone already?"

Moxley's eyes glittered like shards of ice blue glass.

"Sure I'll tell you, Deej."

He replied with mock amiability. Dipping into his pocket he pulled something out and it spilled down to dangle from his fingers in a glitter of platinum and blood red. DJ's heart jerked so hard in his chest that he almost doubled up for a moment.

"What the fuck are you doing with that?"

He whispered. Moxley looked down at the ruby necklace, seeming almost hypnotised as it swung gently back and forth.

"Here's the thing."

He drawled. "You're making a fucking fool of yourself. For the first time ever I'm not grovelling to the great DJ Hyde for the scraps from your table. _I _have what _you _want! And you'd better believe it's staying that way. _Back off_."

"Melissa would never in her worst nightmares hook up with a low life like you."

DJ snarled, jerking upright to his feet. Jon echoed him, the two men circling each other warily with their eyes locked together.

"Seems to me that it's your worst nightmare that she has."

Moxley taunted. "Here's your gift back, DJ. If I were you I'd get a full refund and spend the money on a hooker because I have no idea what Melissa was smoking when she hooked up with you but it's probably only going to happen once in your life."

"You're a fucking _liar_!"

DJ erupted and the two large men collided like meteors.

* * *

**_Phoenix, Arizona_**

**_Monday Night Raw_**

Dressed in slate grey trousers and a white and grey mohair sweater Melissa drank from a cup of coffee and flicked through the final version of the script for the show tonight. The last week had been miserable. This was the first day out of sixth that she wasn't utterly hammered, and she was so hungover that she kind of wished she still was. The Shield had an important angle on the show tonight; the final touches before their Elimination Chamber match against Seamus, Ryback and Cena. Melissa was truly grateful that this had been written weeks ago because at the moment she was utterly incapable of anything approaching creativity.

"Yo, boss."

She looked up sharply to see Seth and Joe walking towards her: fresh as daisies after a week spent relaxing at home. Behind them, looking as grim as she felt was Jon.

"Is that tonight's script?"

Joe asked, casually taking it off her. He rested his big hand on her head, ruffling her hair for a moment and when she looked up at him his crooked smile contained his usual warmth. He at least had apparently forgiven her.

"Yeah. Tonight you're going to do a promo in the ring about the "John Cena Problem" before calling him out. This is a real chance for you to talk about the old, stale regime and what it's going to be with you guys taking the lead…"

Melissa sucked in a breath when Jon casually crossed over to stand beside her, hooking his arm around her shoulders to lean in and read the script just like he always would have.

"Is that scripted?"

He asked casually as though the last time they'd seen each other they hadn't both been convinced that it was over between them.

"N… no. I'll leave that up to you."

Jon nodded distractedly, already thinking. His muscular arm, clad in a black sweater, brushed against her cheek and the smell and heat of him was devastating after a week spent in such misery. "Jon? Can we talk?"

Glancing down at her he cupped her cheek and pressed a brief but scorching kiss against her lips.

"Nothing to talk about, babe. How about we get together after the show though? I have an idea or two what we can do together that doesn't involve conversation."

His teeth flashed white and the fingers against the nape of her neck felt like heaven but Melissa was left reeling against the flood of joyous relief and deep unease. He had forgiven her! Right? But though he was affectionate as ever there was something cold and shuttered about his eyes.

"J… Jon? But I…"

This time his kiss was forceful enough to steal her breath entirely. Her lips were left feeling slightly bruised and tingling.

"Like I said."

He breathed against her ear. "I ain't got nothing to say. Either be there after the show or… don't."

His smile flashed oh so charmingly and then he took the script out of her hands, sauntering away towards the locker room. Joe followed him a moment later and then there was only Seth left, looking troubled and deeply uneasy. Melissa forced a smile.

"It'll be fine."

She reassured him and then realised that if her smile looked anything like the one Seth forced onto his lips then she really ought to save herself the effort.

"Yeeeeaaaah."

Seth drew the word out and let her know that this wasn't her imagination. Something was badly wrong.

* * *

DJ zipped up his coat. The short, brutal encounter with Jon Moxley had answered a lot of questions. If that guy had the necklace then Melissa did not. They were working together these days; it would have been easy enough for Moxley to take the package from her back before she even realised what it was. _That_ was why she hadn't called! And the story about her being with Moxley these days was so much bullshit but it had driven one thing home to DJ: she was way too precious for him to stay at home pouting like a little girl. It was time to get serious.


	20. The Betrayal

Melissa knew full well that it was extremely manipulative to wear the rose-patterned dress that Jon admired so much but sometimes you just had to bring out the big guns. Which was why she'd paired the dress with a cream-coloured pair of stockings and a tippy-tappy pair of heels seemingly so fragile it would make an amazon look like the most delicate girlie girl ever. And she'd curled her hair. _And_ applied pink blush and a dab of rosy lipstick. Truly she was so feminine right now that a man would be forced to take off his coat and throw it across a dirty puddle before his rational brain even processed what had happened. It was only when she got the tacky, artificially sweet taste in her mouth that she realised she was well on the way to gnawing the lipstick off her lips before Jon had even seen it. Swearing softly she whipped out her phone and switching it onto camera repaired the damage she'd done. Across the echoing, concrete parking lot a door slammed open and she jumped; her mouth going dry. Striding towards her Jon looked… feral. Dressed in black jeans and his old leather jacket with a black hoodie beneath it his hair was slicked back from the shower. The hairstyle and all the black made him look disconcertingly more like Dean Ambrose than the Jon she knew and the smile he flashed her – just a mocking curve to his lips beneath glittering blue eyes – only added to the growing certainty that in the past week Jon had withdrawn well behind the looming darkness of his alter-ego. She forced a smile.

"I booked a table at a place across town."

She said shakily. "Italian. It's supposed to be really good. And there won't be too many people; we can talk…"

"How many times are you gonna make me repeat myself?"

Jon asked pleasantly. "I don't wanna _talk_. I wanna go out. Now, I don't mind you coming along sweetheart but just as a warning we're not going to any place that serves wine and keeps a pretty outfit like yours clean."

Melissa looked down at her outfit in dismay. Her coat was more like a cloak: fuzzy cream fake fur trimmed with ribbon. Just _breathing_ on it would get it dirty and Jon wanted to take her to some seedy shit-hole where the floors were so filthy that your shoes stuck to them as you walked along?

"You _asshole_."

She seethed, jerking the fur cloak off and bundling it back into her case. The shoes went next, leaving her in stockinged feet on the cold concrete floor. Jon leant against a pillar patiently; chewing gum obnoxiously and watching her with hooded, unknowable eyes. Raising her hands to the stocking tops she yelped when his hand flashed out and caught hold of her wrist.

"The stockings can stay."

She looked up at him with a sneer.

"You enjoy tormenting yourself, do you?"

She hissed. "Because believe me, the stockings might stay but you're getting nowhere near them tonight!"

"So walk away."

He mocked softly. "That might have sounded more convincing if you hadn't just changed all your plans tonight because I said so. I'll see them… if I choose to. And you know it."

In that moment she rather hated him. Why was he making this so hard? Whether or not she'd done something that deserved it if he couldn't forgive her then _he_ should walk away, surely? Make it clear that it was over and no matter what she did, she didn't have a chance with him anymore. But instead he offered the faintest gleam of hope. Somehow, at the end of this, she might get Jon back and that was worth any amount of suffering. She took a shuddering breath; tears stinging her eyes and bowed her head in silent surrender. Jon made a rough noise that sounded far more furious than their altercation had any right to have made him feel and when she looked up his jaw was clenched tight; a nerve pounding. He was so _angry_: still so unbearably angry at her and when he casually dragged a cropped leather jacket out of her case he almost hurled it at her.

"Get dressed."

He snarled. "I am not playing fucking dress up with you when I could be drinking."

And spinning around he stalked out of the arena car park. Thrusting her feet hastily into a pair of boots and half-running after him even as she pulled on the jacket Melissa wondered which of them she hated the most in that moment.

* * *

The bar exceeded even her deepest misgivings: Jon had really excelled himself. The fog of smoke hung so thickly in the air that her eyes began to water and after a couple of tortured breaths her lungs seemed to shut down in pure self-defence. The music was head-crushingly loud and the bar served beer only by the bottle.

"Two beers."

Jon led the way up to the bar and Melissa tried to keep her eyes down so she couldn't see just how incredulously the other people were staring at her right now. "Two shots of Jim Beam."

One of each was duly set in front of her and Melissa looked at the filthy shot glass squeamishly. It was so covered in other people's sticky fingerprints that the glass looked opaque and gave the deep amber liquid inside a muddy effect. Jon's humourless bark of laughter drew her attention quickly away from the drink and back to him.

"If I ever needed a clue that you and I are from completely fucking different world then it's the way you look at that glass."

"What, they don't have basic hygiene in your world?"

Melissa asked acidly. In response he knocked back the shot in one gulp; a film of whisky on his lower lip for a moment before he licked it off. She glared at him. She was _not_ a princess just because she had a healthy respect for E-Coli! And then with a quiet groan she steeled herself, tried not to let her lips touched the rim of the shot glass and tossed the whisky back down her throat.

* * *

The whisky was a burn in her bloodstream when he led her out onto the dance floor later that night and the skull-crushingly loud rock music had transformed into something that made her heart beat faster. With the alcohol Jon had mellowed into something if not exactly nice then at least _nicer_, or at least less angry and her own jittering tension had been eased by the addition of whisky. All that was left was the stunning rush of relief that he was here, despite everything. She had him close again. The leather jackets had been discarded and his hoodie unzipped to reveal his washboard flat stomach behind a clinging black wife-beater. Her hands slid from his broad shoulders to tangle in the short curls at his nape; standing on tiptoes to reach. The movement pressed their bodies close together and she shuddered with desire at the familiarity of his big, powerful body against her. He had one arm wrapped casually around her waist, his free hand holding a beer bottle and as he took a swig he turned his head slightly. Melissa brushed her nose under the strong line of his jaw, just ghosting her lips over the vulnerable hollow there and he ducked his head, brushing his lips over hers before deepening the kiss and allowing beer that tasted of him to trickle into her mouth. She swallowed, following his lead as his body swayed to the driving beat. It sounded vaguely familiar and she recognised the band as Adelita's Way. The Collapse, she thought.

_"Get laid out, or I'm gonna lay you out. Stay down, or I'm gonna keep you down."_

Jon's hand dropped lower, cupping her backside and pulling her up against him as he ground their hips together. Beneath the net froth of her skirt his hand discovered the smooth skin of her thighs over the frilled elastic that kept her stockings up and she felt him shiver against her even as she skittered away in embarrassment. He pulled her back again, tipping the neck of the bottle towards her and despite her misgiving that he surely must be pulling the skirt of her dress dangerously high she wrapped her lips around the bottle and took a deep gulp. It did not taste as good as the beer that Jon had fed her and she realised that it was not the beer she wanted, but the taste of him. Pulling the bottle from his hand she placed it haphazardly on the shelf built around a nearby pillar and moved more fully into his arms. Jon laughed softly, white teeth flashing.

"Missed me?"

He whispered against her ear and the warm breath where she was so sensitive made her eyelids flutter. Her hand cupped his cheek, feeling the rough scratch of stubble against her palm and as she gazed up at him there was an open vulnerability to her expression that few people in her life had ever seen. It was with a simple honesty that she murmured,

"So much. If you go then you take part of me with you, Jon."

Jon actually flinched back a little and for the first time that night the ice in his eyes seemed to shatter, revealing the depth of his hurt beneath.

"Why'd you try to make me feel like the bad guy?"

He asked bitterly. "I fucking worshipped _you_."

And before she could reply he kissed her. The anger hadn't gone so far after all: she could feel it like the buzz of electricity against her. She knew, oh she knew that she had to talk to him. Had to get him to listen somehow but talking had done diddly squat for her with him in the past week so maybe _showing_ him might do something: kiss her repentance, her simple adoration and devotion to him past those stubborn lips and into his head. And… maybe she was weak. Maybe in truth the touch of his lips against hers just did her in completely and if it was possible to pretend for a moment that things were fine between them then she was willing to grasp at that weak illusion with both hands. Twining her hands through his hot, damp tangle of hair she pressed herself up against him and kissed him desperately back.

* * *

They stumbled into the bathroom, ignoring a startled "Hey!" from the woman already in there standing at the sink. Guiding her into one of the toilet cubicles Jon locked the door behind them. It was a tight squeeze and Melissa had not seen anything quite so awful since she had caught a glimpse into the boys' toilets in high school. Something of a mood killer. She went to move away from the wall but Jon pushed her back, pressed against her and kissing her with such hunger and raw passion that suddenly it was really hard to care about anything else. He grasped her skirt in both hands: scrunching the material up around her waist and pulling her leg up until one foot was planted firmly onto the enamel toilet seat. Pulling recklessly at his belt, biting at his lower lip until she tasted the copper tang of blood she slid her hand into his jeans and found him fully erect and ready for her. A low, needy sound of anticipation trickled from her lips and he growled, cupping and squeezing her breast until her back arched. Their eyes met and locked, that incredible feeling of intimacy beginning as it always did but suddenly Jon flinched, breaking eye contact. Taking hold of her shoulders he spun her roughly around until she had to brace her hands against the filthy bathroom wall or stumble over the toilet.

"Jon…!"

She protested.

"Hush."

He rasped against her ear from behind. "I've got what you need."

And slipping his hand between her legs her began to create havoc with her willpower. Using the slippery wetness between her legs he began to ease a finger past the tight ring between her buttocks and she tensed, shying away. Kissing her neck, nipping at her earlobe Jon began to murmur into her ear in that devilish, whisky soaked rasp of a voice when he was most turned on. "Give in. You know you can't fight me. Might as well enjoy it… and I know you are, baby. Oh _yeah_, good girl… My dirty little girl likes her loving a little dark, a little wild…"

A tremor ran through her. He'd get the best of her, always and short of a full-on orgy with ten other WWE superstars there was probably nothing she would ever deny him. Preparing her with first one finger, then two and three he replaced his fingers with his thick length. Slipping his hand back between her legs, he wrapped the other around her and the slick, meaty sound of flesh against flesh was soon interspersed with their moans.

"Let DJ see you like this."

He gasped against her ear with savage satisfaction and her fingers clenched into the filthy tiles on the wall. "I'll take you places that squeaky clean prick doesn't even know to go and you will never go back to him even if it's 'cause I've taken you so low he… won't… fucking… want… you!"

His voice became a breathless gasp, his arm tightening around her and though his words disturbed her deeply it was just too late: the pleasure heat spilling through her too hot and too thick to chase back until she was nothing but the heat and the need for him. His thumb rapidly brushing over her aching, swollen clit as two fingers slid inside her entrance. Completely overwhelmed by him Melissa felt her orgasm hit with the fury and destruction of a hurricane and it left just as much devastation in its wake.

* * *

Still wracked with tremors Melissa sagged weakly against the wall. The sound of a zipper gave her to energy to turn and when she did Jon was standing there with his head down, tucking himself back into his jeans and pulling his hoodie back down over his hips as his golden hair concealed his eyes from her.

"Jon?"

She hated the way her voice shook, on the verge of tears. His lips twisted.

"Thanks babe. That was swell."

Nothing had ever sounded as loud as when the lock on the cubicle door slid back across. She did not feel anger, or even disbelief. Inside Melissa felt too frozen to feel anything at all as he walked out of the bathroom without ever looking back. When, sometime later, she managed to get herself together enough to leave, she was not surprised to find that he was long gone. Wrapping her leather jacket tightly around her she began the long walk back to somewhere safe enough that she'd have a hope in hell of actually hailing a taxi.


	21. The New Horror

**Alright! ALRIGHT! For the love of God I can't take any more messages telling me to update! I give in! LMAO. You can have what I've written so far. It isn't a full chapter and it may be that I delete this chapter and replace it with something considerably less rough** **but if you approve of the direction I've taken this in then let me know. And if you don't usually review but had no problem giving me grief about the long pause between updates then I think it would be polite to say something nice now, hmmm? ;) As for the people who have given me endless support and encouragement during this... I absolutely adore you! 3**

* * *

Standing in the shadows near the entrance to the bar Jon watched as his girlfriend emerged. At some point during the night she'd laid aside the leather jacket and rather than trying to find it after their bathroom encounter she'd just left it. Leaving her in the January snow wearing nothing but a pretty summer dress that was now streaked with dirt and God only knows what else. If she noticed the way the icy wind and rain immediately glued the dress to her shuddering body and gave her naturally pale skin a blue-ish tinge however, she wasn't letting on. Her head down, rapidly rat-tailing blonde hair obscuring her face she just headed off stoically into the night. And damned if he wasn't torn apart by the two conflicting urges to be viciously, sadistically glad at her pain and to run to her, pulling her into his arms and out of the weather as he shielded her with his own body if he had to. Jon's hands clenched into fists and a low sound somewhere between a moan and a snarl trickled from his lips. He was going insane! He _needed_ to hurt her. The way she'd hurt him, the way no one had hurt him since he was a kid and his mom let him down so badly and so many times… to the man that Jon had become, it demanded payback. Strange then that rather than satisfaction at the stunt he'd pulled tonight it felt like his insides were slowly being liquidised by poison.

_"Jon?"_

The way she'd looked at him, the tremor in her voice, the way she'd reached for him even though he was the one bringing the pain… He'd brought her so low, hadn't he? Payback bitch! Payback for the hurt and the pain so fresh, so extreme that he might have been five years old again. Payback for being so damn perfect she'd made him fall in love with her in the first place when he knew better! He knew better, damn it! But this damaged girl formed from jagged, broken pieces of ice had looked at him and he'd seen redemption staring back. Broken as she was – as he knew damn well _he_ was – somehow when he was with her he'd felt like all the shit in his past had been a bad, bad dream. She'd been his second chance. She'd been his do-over.

_I thought that rainbow was a bridge to heaven and oh, how I'm falling now._

So he'd hurt her in the way that he knew would cut right to the heart. _So smile, fucker: smile at the sweet taste of victory_. Is this what it tasted like then, victory? 'Cause if he hadn't known better he'd think it was the taste of that one, secret, innocent dream that had managed to survive his childhood turning to dust in his hands. Trembling, tortured and sickened Jon stealthily began to follow her back towards civilisation. He wasn't ever going to allow anyone to hurt her.

* * *

She ended up walking the whole way back to the hotel. Melissa couldn't believe that she'd been so stupid as to come out tonight without her purse but in the abrupt and panicked change in the car park she must have left her purse in the pocket of the fake fur cloak.

_I bet you're grateful now that Jon made you change your shoes!_

A hysterical little whisper pointed out inside her head before breaking down into something caught in a hellish blend of giggles and wracking sobs. Melissa pressed her lips together. She would not, was not _ever_ going to cry about this. One particularly vicious gust of wind flung rain at her like icy daggers and the pain went down to her bones. Good. She was clean again at least. A toilet cubicle, a filthy bar and his touch washed away in ice and cruelty.

_What now?_

The hysterical voice sounded utterly lost suddenly. Melissa flinched, biting into her lower lip so harshly that she tasted blood. Now? Now she admitted to herself that it was over. Now she began the rest of her life… without Jon. And oh, God that thought hurt!

_Are you really about to tell yourself that you'll die without him?_

She mocked herself. _Yet here you are; still alive, still breathing._

The hotel came up so suddenly that she was actually taken a little by surprise. The grand reception hall was a haven of warmth and bright lights. Just a little longer to go then. Just hold it together for long enough to ride one of those elevators up to her room. She could fall apart then, if she had to. She could plan what to do when she would have to see him again tomorrow.

"Melli?"

Equal parts relief, delight and dawning dismay the voice that called her name was achingly familiar and in that moment absolutely and horribly unwelcome. Slowly her head came up, blinking water out of her eyes but before she had the chance to really focus someone else called out,

"Melissa!"

Seth and Joe had planned to go out to dinner, whilst she and Jon went to the bar. Seems like they'd all finished up around the same time because here they were, cutting towards her from across the foyer. Someone else made it first.

"Melli, what the hell…? You're soaking wet!"

Huge, dinner plate hands settled on her shoulders. Looking up in dazed disbelief her eyes met a pair of blue grey orbs beneath a short, glossy cap of brown hair. Along with his heavy, bulldog jaw and powerful shoulders those eyes broadcast nothing as much as stubborn determination that would put a mule to shame. And he would have to have that, to be here now.

"D….D….Deej…!"

She may not have been completely aware of just how cold she had become but her vocal chords surely were. DJ's eyes widened and before she could protest he slid out of his jacket and pulled the hoodie he had on beneath up over his head.

"Jesus honey, you'll catch your death!"

It was fuzzy inside, warm from his body and smelled of him. It also engulfed her from neck to knees as DJ pulled it briskly down over her head and pulled her arms through the sleeves like she was a little kid again. And then he smiled.

"Before you ask me what the hell I'm doing here, I'll tell you this: I tried being somewhere else, somewhere were you weren't and it made me fucking miserable. I only ever wanna be where you are."

* * *

An incandescently angry Seth Rollins stalked over to the corner of the foyer where a drenched, shivering Jon was standing.

"What did you do, you _stupid_ motherfucker?"

He asked simply, his eyes so furious that they actually changed from their usual chocolate brown to glowing amber. Jon could not tear his eyes away from where his girlfriend – if he could even call her that anymore – suddenly crumpled. His whole body jerked like it was ready to race towards her without any conscious thought but it hit the choke-chain, snarling, when instead of him it was DJ fucking Hyde that caught her. It did not seem to take any effort at all to lift Melissa up into his arms and cradle her to his barrel chest, black hoodie and all. Jon watched, dry-eyed and burning as Melissa's head dropped down onto DJ's shoulder and he carried the icy cold, drenched woman away.

"What did I do?"

He asked softly. "I fucked up everything."


	22. The Offering

Melissa had no idea whether she fainted or what but one moment she was looking up into DJ's familiar eyes and the next her face was pressed against the muscular bulk of his shoulder as he cradled her against his chest.

"Have you got your room key, Melli?"

His deep voice rumbled through his chest. She shook her head, exhausted.

"I think my purse and key card must be back in my suitcase."

"And where's your suitcase?"

"Back… back in the arena car park."

Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. Delayed shock seemed to be setting in because even with the warmth of his hoodie around her she was starting to seriously shake.

"Melli?"

They both looked up at the agitated, extremely concerned and pissed off voice. Seth's glossy mane of black and blond hair was falling in a tumble around his shoulders and his eyes were creased with tension. DJ set her down on her feet and she knew it was because he needed his hands free to deal with this new threat. She stepped slightly in between the two men.

"Seth… This is Seth. He's my friend. The Shield…"

DJ relaxed slightly.

"Oh, right. I recognise you, sure."

He held out one big, meaty hand. "I'm DJ Markland, Melli's boyfriend."

Now _that_ was something of a major exaggeration and her friend knew it too. Seth shot him a sharp look that could have stripped paint. Ignoring the offered hand completely and barely jerking his head to acknowledge that DJ had spoken at all he turned his full attention back to her and his face visibly softened.

"Melli… you want me to sort this out?"

_Do you want me to get rid of him?_

It was not even slightly subtle and the amiable smile on DJ's face slipped away; his eyes hardening to slate grey marbles. He was the CZW boss. He might be disrespected once but generally DJ was incredibly effective at making sure there was never a repeat performance. Melissa closed her eyes for a moment. Did she really have to deal with this right now? Was that even _fair_? Bad enough surely what had taken place between her and Jon tonight without her having to referee a pissing contest between her ex and her usually super mellow friend of all people.

"We're fine."

She replied shortly and DJ settled; his heavy arm draping around her shoulders. Dismissing Seth as unimportant he turned his attention back to her and she could actually see the hostility slip from his eyes; leaving the familiar adoration that she knew so well. It had been suffocating… once.

"Come on, honey. You're wet through and need a hot bath or something. Why don't you have a long soak with bubbles and I'll run down and pick up your suitcase, OK? Are you hungry? I can pick up some takeout on the way back."

It was a wonderfully kind thing to offer and surely just for a moment, just while she felt like her life was falling down around her feet it would be OK to take the shelter that DJ's massive shoulders offered? It would be OK, just for a moment, to be weak and let him take the load of her? She leant in against him, accepting the comfort from him that she needed so desperately off Jon. But DJ had been the one to offer it and the familiarity of him was absolute. He smelled of rain, damp wool and the fresh, evergreen scent of his favourite aftershave. Seth was looking more than a little worried now.

"Melli…"

"Does she look like she's up for whatever you want from her?"

DJ's already deep voice deepened threateningly to a sub-sonic, rumbling bass. "You can talk to her tomorrow. Right now she needs to get warm and dry, get something to eat and sleep."

"And where will you be sleeping?"

Seth snapped back. Melissa blinked and DJ's eyes widened. He looked down at her in disbelief.

"Who the fuck _is_ this guy?"

"A friend."

She said grimly.

"And is there any reason why he needs to know where I'm sleeping tonight?"

"There is _not_."

Seth immediately took on the look of a kicked puppy: unbelievably hurt and Melissa swore softly beneath her breath. "Seth! Not tonight, alright?"

"Melli, this is bad, alright? You know how this will look!"

"It's already bad!"

She erupted and suddenly it was all too much. "I've talked until I'm blue in the face, trying to explain myself! And tonight… tonight… No. I don't care anymore how it looks. Because as from tonight this became my business and mine alone."

And with that she burst into tears. Seth could not have looked more horrified had she suddenly set a kitten on fire in front of him.

"Melli… oh hey Melli, I'm sorry…!"

DJ gently eased his sobbing, shaking ex-girlfriend closer against him. Tucked under one of his arms she looked unbelievably fragile against DJ's muscular bulk.

"Get the fuck out of here."

He said very softly but Seth stopped dead at the aggression and warning spilling from those words. DJ, he realised, was about one step away from punching him out in the middle of the hotel lobby. The unexpected weakness in the usually cold, controlled Melissa had cranked his protective instincts up to maximum. "You say that you're her friend? A friend does not chew her out when she's in pieces about something I'm thinking more and more already has something to do with you."

Seth took a quick, worried breath. Jesus, whether or not Jon and Melissa desperately needed to talk before this all got completely out of hand it obviously wasn't going to happen tonight. And Melissa clearly needed someone to be there for her tonight, even if it was her prick ex.

"_I'll_ go get her suitcase."

He said wearily. "I'll bring it around. You stay with her."

A glitter of triumphant satisfaction glittered in DJs eyes and Seth fought the urge to give him the finger. Oh yeah, big tough guy thought this was him backing down; the younger wolf rolling over onto his back for the alpha. Seth was confident enough in himself not to need to swing his dick around to show how big it was. No wonder Melissa had looked at Jon like he was all her birthdays, Christmases and Batman all rolled up into one hot bundle if this was what she was used to. Reaching over he touched his fingers gently to her wet, cold cheek.

"I'm sorry."

He said softly to her, with genuine repentance. "I didn't mean to be a dick."

She managed a weak, water-logged smile.

"See you tomorrow."

* * *

The hotel bath tub filled up with water almost too hot to handle and the flowery scent of the wild rose bath foam. She eased her frozen, shaking form into the deep water and let out a hiss of agony as her chilled flesh began to defrost. Stretching out until only her head was above the water she soaked the flannel in the hot water and draped it over her forehead, covering her eyes. DJ was here. Some part of her brain that was still working correctly knew that Seth was absolutely right and a whirlwind of shit was just about to hit her and Jon over this. Every other part of her was too hurt to care. What was she supposed to do? Go to Jon now and drop down onto her knees, begging for forgiveness? Maybe he'd let her blow him while she was down there before casually pushing her off and dropping a twenty dollar note down onto the floor beside her. As the hurt and pain reverberated through her body she began to cry; quietly at first and then giving in to the heaving sobs that threatened to rip her apart. Hugging her knees to her chest in the steaming water she finally allowed herself to admit the truth. It was over.

* * *

She eventually emerged out of the bathroom, dry-eyed and wrapped in one of the hotel towelling robes. DJ had made himself at home while she was in the bath. His jacket was steaming gently under the hot air vent, his boots were kicked aside and he was dressed in dry jogging bottoms and a long sleeved CZW T-shirt. His sleek brown hair had the tousled, fluffy look of a man who'd carelessly rubbed a towel over his wet hair. Sitting on the bed, flicking through the TV channels he looked up with a smile when he saw her.

"Feel better? You have some colour back in your cheeks."

"It's a cold night."

She said obliquely. For the first time she noticed the duffel bag dumped casually onto the floor. "Did you get a hotel room?"

DJ shook his head.

"I was waiting around reception to check that you were staying here. I would have checked in but…"

His shrug was eloquent and Melissa flushed guiltily. She could hardly accuse the poor guy of imposing on her privacy when she had just crumpled into his arms like a seventeenth century maiden. DJ began to get up off the bed. "Now that you're better I'll…"

"No, wait."

Her fingers brushed the well-worn cotton of his shirt. "It's really late. You can stay here with me tonight."

He studied her face and gave her a lopsided smile.

"Seems like you could use somebody tonight."

She needed _Jon_, and the fact that he was never going to be there again would take a whole lot of grief before she finally accepted it. That familiar feeling of teetering on a cliff-edge: choking tears and misery welled up inside again and threatened to close her throat entirely. DJ wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her onto the bed.

"Rest."

He rumbled. "I'll take care of everything."

* * *

Seth knocked at the hotel room door. Much to his dismay and disgust it was DJ that answered, not Melissa. What the hell was he still doing here? DJ's curling lips let it be known that he wasn't exactly thrilled to see Seth again either.

"I brought her case."

DJ jerked his head in acceptance but offered no word of thanks. "Is she alright?"

Seth continued urgently. DJ frowned.

"What the hell do you know about tonight about why she _isn't_ alright?"

So she hadn't told him a damn thing. Not surprising really: Seth could think of about a billion things that Melissa would rather deal with tonight than her ex suddenly discovering that she had happily been moving on since they'd broken up.

"I saw what you saw."

He said truthfully and DJ grimaced with dissatisfaction. Swinging the door slightly out he revealed Melissa. Curled up on one side of an unmade bed she was sleeping deeply; tear stained marring her skin. Seth felt his heart break. "Aw, honey…"

He murmured and DJ abruptly concealed her from sight again.

"I'm here now."

Well Seth wasn't about to touch that topic with a ten foot pole. Raising his eyebrows ironically he touched his fingers to his temple in a mocking salute.

"Unmistakably so. Tell Melli I'll see her in the morning."

* * *

Melissa woke up abruptly. It was still pitch-black in the hotel room. Stripped down to his boxers DJ was asleep and throwing out heat with a vengeance; thick arm pulling her close to a furry chest. She'd changed from the towelling robe to a long T-shirt earlier but now it had rucked up around her waist and there was a whole lot of bare skin touching DJ's. Gently she broke away from his embrace and he grumbled in his sleep; flinging the arm above his head and full-on sprawling. She'd forgotten what a bed hog he was. There was barely any room for her now unless she wanted to get close to him again. He was also a light sleeper and if she checked her emails or got some work done on her laptop he would wake up for sure. She wasn't up for a conversation right now, especially one along the lines of what the hell he was doing here!

_"I only ever want to be where you are."_

If that meant what she thought it meant then any conversation she had with him was going to end unpleasantly. Stealthily she slipped from the bed and found the robe again. Slipping the key card into its pocket she opened the door as quietly as she could, restricting the opening as much as possible so the sudden rush of light wouldn't wake up DJ and slipped into the corridor… only to muffle a yell of shock as she turned around to come face-to-face with Seth.

"What the…"

He looked just as startled.

"I couldn't sleep! I was just gonna check on you…"

Quickly she pulled the door closed and socked Seth on his bicep.

"You scared me to death!"

She hissed. He shrugged helplessly.

"I wasn't expecting you to come ninja-ing out of your hotel room like goddamn Mission Impossible!"

They glared at each other and suddenly their lips began to twitch. With a soft groan Seth pulled her into his arms. Hands on his hips she rested her forehead against his shoulder for a moment as she giggled and then pulled away.

"DJ is a light sleeper and I… I just really needed some alone time."

Seth frowned.

"I'm sharing with two other dudes…"

He mumbled and then suddenly brightened. His dark eyes lit up with his mischievous smile. "Want to see something really cool?"

Melissa looked down at her towelling robe and his boxers, T-shirt and bare feet, then shrugged.

"Sure."

* * *

One corner of the bar, now closed, had the most enormous fish tank she had ever seen. It had one of those huge lion fish like in Deuce Bigolo: Male Gigolo and loads of other tropical fish that darted through the water like living jewels. The tank itself was illuminated with a mellow, emerald green ambient lighting and as they sat down on the deep sofa made up on plush red velvet Melissa sighed as some deep tension finally let go, just a little. Padding on bare feet Seth nipped behind the bar and emerged with a bottle of vintage cognac that must have cost around a hundred dollars if he hadn't just shamelessly stolen it. Dropping down beside her on the sofa he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and then took a swig right from the bottle. Melissa blinked.

"Classy."

She drawled and he winked at her.

"S'good shit."

He replied approvingly and she grinned, taking a swig in turn. The alcohol spilled down her throat like liquid velvet, pooling on her stomach and sending tendrils of heat through her body. He was right, she thought hazily as the alcohol hit a moment later: it was seriously good shit. "What happened with Jon tonight?"

He asked softly. She shuddered.

"I… can't Seth, alright? I don't want to talk about it."

"Did he hurt you?"

And Seth's eyes narrowed like best friend or not Jon was about to enter a world of pain if he'd inflicted something like that on her. Melissa managed a pained laugh. She had consented to every degrading moment. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Could he have treated her like that if she hadn't let him? But she had left it too long in answering and Seth's body was suddenly vibrating with tension.

"No!"

She protested hastily, grabbing his arm and then more softly, "No. It's always good Seth, even when it… isn't."

Seth's lips curled but he huffed out a breath and settled her once again against him.

"And DJ?"

She groaned softly and took another swig of brandy.

"Jon was right."

She said quietly. "I should have talked to him a long time ago."

"I'll be there."

Seth replied and it was said so simply, so sweetly that her eyes welled up. How was it that in flying down to Tampa and discovering the man that had been made with her in mind, she had also found the best friend she had ever had?

"Thanks."

She whispered and their fingers twined together.

* * *

The blood was pounding so hard through his veins that Jon could hardly see. Clinging onto the punch bag for dear life he closed his eyes, the world spinning crazily around him. When he had seen DJ ushering Melissa upstairs he had come straight to the gym and had been there ever since. Hours of churning away on the treadmill, the elliptical and the rowing machine had passed before he finally started on the bags. His knuckles were split wide open, he realised fuzzily: the blood had stained the creamy beige canvas of the bag. It still hadn't brought him any mental peace: the sight of Melissa in DJ's arms was branded so deep into his brain that he would never be able to un-see it but his body was screaming out in sheer, physically pain and exhaustion. He might finally be able to sleep. Once he would have taken some pills and knocked himself into oblivion but these days of WWE and its unforgiving Wellness policy had put a stop to all that. Losing his girlfriend _and_ his job in a single night: yeah that would just about do it. But he needed something; sweet fucking Christ he really needed _something_. Weaving unsteadily out of the gym, his legs like overcooked noodles he staggered towards the bar. It was long-since closed of course but someone had kindly left the door unlocked. The Wellness policy had nothing in particular about alcohol and anyway, it would be out of his system by tomorrow. He could have a whisky, a double maybe and then head back to the room he was sharing with Seth and Joe. Suddenly stopping, his mouth twisted into a painful looking smile as he realised Melissa must have had the same idea. They were curled up on the sofa next to the fish tank like two puppies in a basket; the bottle of cognac casually pushed aside and both sleeping deeply. Jon gazed at her and thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful before. Some knife that had been thrust deep into his heart by his own actions eased out; leaving him bleeding but free from its poison. She was here, not with DJ. The torturous images on her rolling around on a bed with DJ, taking revenge in the most effective and evil way finally stopped playing. She was here with Seth, and Seth would take care of her. In this he trusted his friend absolutely. Padding over to them he cupped his girlfriend's cheek in one hand as she slept.

"I'm sorry, baby."

He whispered and pressed his lips briefly against hers. "If it excuses anything at all I'm so in love with you I don't know what to do with it."

And with one last, longing gaze at her he turned around and left the bar again to head up to his room. He left the whisky untouched behind him.


End file.
